Science and Progress
by SamanthaTL
Summary: To heal is to accept is to love. Nobody ever said it would be easy. Post Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1: Breakthrough

**A/N: I had to scrap and restart this second THG story like, three times and I was starting to worry, because I didn't have an ending in my head and I experienced a bit of a writer's block. I refuse to continue writing if I couldn't piece the story together and have a proper ending. **

**Set after Mockingjay, many many years later.**

**Disclaimer: TGH is not mine blah blah blah.**

* * *

Wild mushroom soup is one of my favourites. I decided to indulge tonight for dinner, gathering special mushrooms I recently discovered in the deeper end of the woods, chopping them up, and serving it in soup. I used this new type of spice I found in the market, a bit on expensive side. I think it's delicious. I made sure to keep some leftovers for Peeta.

The rest of my dining table is covered with elementary books and notepads, disorganized pens and pencils, and my students' test papers I still have to mark. I found a job half a year ago that requires me to come in to two different elementary schools to teach Science. My first day as a teacher, as I can recall, did not go as smoothly. I stood in front of the class, tongue tied and sweating. The little girls reminded me so much of Prim. There were little blonde merchant girls and dark haired seam girls. I thought it was nerve wrecking. I had to duck out the door before the rest of my sadness hit me, hand over my mouth so no one could hear me weep in the hallway.

I pick up my tea and saunter off to the living room to turn off the TV. I saved enough money to buy a medium sized one, and it's not as bulky as the older models. I quickly felt detached from it weeks after I purchased it. I didn't realize I only like to keep it on so the noise could fill the house. I dislike when my house gets deathly quiet. In a blink of an eye I trip over one of Peeta's shoes before I could reach the TV. There goes my tea. And there goes my TV. I grab the nearest dry thing on the floor in a desperate attempt to wipe the splattered, warm liquid off the screen, and realize I've picked up Peeta's shirt. I have to take care of my TV. These things cost a lot of money.

And Peeta really needs to organize his stuff in my house.

It started off with his spare toothbrush and razor blade in my bathroom cupboard. Then, three shirts, a pair of shorts, and a couple of underwear housed in a drawer next to mine. The more I pretended to not notice, the more Peeta belongings shift into the house. So I made a comment one day that I was running out of drawer space. Since then, he has always asked for permission before he brings in another one of his things.

This week he has brought in a sports magazine from Capitol. He seems to be very intrigued by this newly introduced sport; it's called "football". On the cover is the poster team of Panem, these big men, carefully selected to embody the Capitol's strongest. They look very intimidating. The Capitol has encouraged the rest of Panem to arrange teams together to represent their own districts. Peeta, along with his rowdy District 13 friends, are ecstatic. They want to try out for the District 12 team. I, on the other hand, am ecstatic as well. Just like Peeta, I am also intrigued, but with the kind uniform they have to wear. I can definitely imagine his chest in that uniform. And his broad shoulders. And his ass.

All the racket in his house across mine catches my attention as I pass by the window. His two District 13 friends are over, and they seem to be hollering and talking over each other in front of his TV. I close off the curtain by the window and dump my empty bowl and tea mug carelessly in the sink. I don't feel like doing dishes tonight. I also neglect my notebooks and lesson plan unfinished. I can complete them tomorrow before my first class at 11:00 am. I will probably wake up at 6 anyway, as per routine. By 6:30 I'll be out the door and venturing out into the woods. My woods, half-guarded by its worn down, once electric, killer fence.

I still hunt during my free time. My old bow had reached the end of its lifespan many years ago and I had to build a new one. And I'm proud to say it is as good as how my father would've created it. I target bigger game now, such as deer and wild pigs, mostly seen early in the morning. They don't come around every day, and when they do, they generate me big money. I have become more aggressive when it comes to trading and selling. Besides meat, I'm looking towards vegetation now to sell such as mushrooms and different assortment of roots. There has been a small spike in number of hunters in the woods, mostly men, but they don't bother me. There is only one other best hunter in this district, and it was Gale. He left, right after the war was over, restarted his life in District Two.

I walk through the unlit hallway and retreat to my bedroom. I am very tired. I find nostalgia tiring.

I settle in bed, not bothering to untie my hair. My bones and muscles refuse to move now that I have curled myself into my favourite sleep position. The moonlight is streaming through my window and it illuminates my face, and I find comfort in it. Sleep is starting to claim me as the phone on the end table rings incessantly. I hesitate at first, and then I stretch my arm across the bed to pick it up.

"Hey," Peeta greets me. I glance at the clock on my wall and it's only 9:30 pm.

"Hi. Great bonding time with the boys?" I ask.

"Yeah! You heard them leave my house didn't you? I swear they leave trails of noises everywhere they go. It's like a procession," he says, then falls silent for a moment. He continues.

"You didn't visit the gravesite again today."

Peeta and I have this somewhat new arrangement of visiting our families' burial sites tucked away in the north eastern part of the district once a week. I would bring in the flowers, and he was responsible for the candles. Sooner or later I've grown tired of it and lost the inclination of seeing my father and my sister's tombstones that would normally last for two hours, so I had not shown up in our meeting place in a month or maybe more, which probably irritated him.

"There are so many things that need my attention in a day, you know, Peeta? I've been occupied helping the students get ready for the finals," I say, trying to make him understand, and could almost hear him scoff inwardly at my excuse.

"No need to explain, Katniss. The only thing here is that you should've just told me you weren't up for our weekly cemetery visits anymore."

"It's not that I don't want to pay respects, I just don't have the time at all with…, with the school and my hunting…"

This one is a lie. I simply do not want to deal with the hurt anymore. Feeling hurt is so tiring. I do not want to see my baby sister's name etched in a rock. Instead, I should keep being angry about her death. It is easier being angry than being sad about something I can never revert or change. But as much as I want to hail all negativity towards me, I can't. I can't feel any anger; I think I may have run out of it. So there is nowhere else to go but the middle ground. Indifference.

"Katniss, it's fine, I'm not mad. I run the bakery alone full time. But I'm still going to the site as usual to see my family. And I know they're just makeshift tombstones and their remains are actually not laying there beneath the ground, but that's all I got and that's the closest I have to a family. Feel free to come."

There's something very tragic and depressing in that, I find. I know we have each other, for company, or as confidants, as friends by the marketplace and as lovers in bed. But there are times that I unintentionally make him feel alone. But instead of shriveling in a corner, he manages to bounce back at life. And the way he has freely accepted all the misgivings and unfairness of the world, is beyond me. My heart constricts. But I file this feeling away under the category of hurt.

He tells me goodnight and I say goodnight too, and he hangs up the phone.

The strong and gentle Peeta. He's always been so kind to me. I don't know why he still wants to hang around me. I should be more appreciative and grateful I have someone who cares for me as much as him. I do dread the day it all stops. But what more can I give? I have none for myself. I am a hollow, empty shell, constantly making endless itineraries and forming new hobbies so I don't have to deal with my own thoughts.

I am Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty-seven years old. I live in 3411 Blue River St, Victor's Village, District 12. I lost my father and my sister. My mother has abandoned me. I survived two Hunger Games, and a war. And I watched this district revive from the ashes of destruction. Although, I can't say the same about my life.

* * *

My second class of the day is over, and I see Peeta standing by the classroom door waiting for me, subconsciously fidgeting with his hands deep in his pockets, watching the little children stuff their notebooks enthusiastically into their bags, eager to go home. He doesn't realize he's smiling at them.

They create an outbound line towards the door and brighten at the sight of Peeta.

"Hi Mister Peeta," a blonde little boy greets him. Peeta nods and smiles.

Two little girls approach him shyly, whispering to each other. They look up to him in unison, "Hi Miss Everdeen's….boyfriend!" the girls shriek at him and giggle uncontrollably, as if they're being tickled, and run through the door almost trampling over Peeta's feet.

Students continue to file out, acknowledging his presence at the door, and although Peeta doesn't interact much at all, the little children seem to have some type of affinity towards him.

"Hi. What's that on your face?" a curly haired girl asks him as she points at him.

"This," his hand flies up to massage his chin, "…this is stubbles. Or 'stubbies'." Peeta aims to get a nod of approval from me and doesn't get any.

"Erm…facial hair?" Peeta tries again and glances at me. I slightly shake my head.

The curly haired girl has a confused look on her face. "My grandpa calls his hair "beard". Are you a grandpa too?"

I finally step in and shoo the little girl out of the classroom and she hops away. I shoot Peeta a wide smile, whom has not moved an inch, his hand seems to have been glued to his chin.

"They love you," I tell him as I try to adjust the bag on my shoulder, only to be snatched away by Peeta as we turn off the lights and leave the room.

"I don't know about that." He's kicking imaginary dirt with his shoe.

We stop by the market to buy some tea leaves and peanut butter jars. I showed him where I purchased the spice I used for the wild mushroom soup, which he loved, by the way. He also needed a bag of yeast and semi-sweet chocolate bars for his baking. And as per routine, we reach the Victor's Village by sunset.

He drops my bag on my couch and stretches his leg over the coffee table while he watches a little bit of TV. He does this one all the time. By this point I can predict his movements around my house. Once a commercial goes on, he will get up off the couch, go to my kitchen and grab some snacks.

As per tradition, I watch him float around my living space using my pre-calculated assumptions. It doesn't take long until he turns to me and says, "Alright, I know you have to start your lesson plan for next week. I'm going back to the bakery."

"No."

I almost dart my eyes around, curious as to where the sound came from, and I am surprised at the realization that it's my own voice. He looks as curious as me, as he stands between the door and the TV glaring at me, unsure of his next steps.

"I'm sorry?" he asks.

"I…," my voice shakes and my legs seem to suddenly have a mind of their own and they're making me pace back and forth. "I can't keep living like this. This…," my finger points at the air between us, "this routine we have, every single day doing the same things over and over…"

Before I know it Peeta is inches from my face and has both his hands on my arms, his blue eyes drilling into mine, extremely worried.

"Katniss, is there anything I could do? What would you have been doing differently?" he asks.

My head falls to the side, avoiding his gaze. My body is suddenly drained out of energy.

"I want to escape the mundane. I feel my childhood was stolen from me, Peeta. I grew up way too fast, and saw and experienced too much, and now I'm just surviving to get by." On a normal day, I'd have this kind of thought caged in the back of my head, never to be released. Today, I feel a piece of my wall break down, and I slowly let him in. I almost feel embarrassed of myself.

He lifts my chin up so he could look into my eyes. "Tell me what you want, anything to make you happy."

I want to hang out on a tree the whole day. I want to eat luxurious Capitol food. I want a puppy. I want to receive lots of flowers. I want to relax and eat candied apples. I want to learn how to knit. I want to see Gale again and laugh in the woods. I want to watch the moon at night. I want to plant trees, lots of trees. I want to skinny dip. I want to be giddy and love struck, and bask in the thrills of being a teenager, and all sorts of frivolousness that comes with it.

I want to live.


	2. Chapter 2: Young Hearts

**A/N: ****Rated Mature****! This chapter is Rated M!**

* * *

This summer has been brutally hot. It's not just hot; it's that searing, uncomfortable type of heat that suffocates. So today I'm sporting a pair of shorts. It's hot, and I'm walking on hot, dirt road, and I can't see because Peeta's hands are covering my eyes with such tightness that I'm afraid my eyes would sink in. He is currently excited about football.

He made the District 12 team, much to his delight. His District 13 friends, Chip and Ashton, have officially moved to our district by influence of job opportunities, and they almost did not make the deadline for the football try outs. Peeta and I helped them move in to their apartments, and I saw in one of the boxes I helped bring down from the truck, were a couple of weapons. Small guns and fancy scanners of some sort. I thought there was a new rule enforced in 13 after the war, that all weaponry and military unit be returned to the main base, then to be locked down under high security. Peeta just casually told me that you can take the boys out of District 13, but you can't take the District 13 out of the boys.

He hasn't stopped talking about football right up until I gradually feel soft grass underneath my shoes, a nice change from stepping on pebbles and sharp rocks. He finally takes his hands back and I let out a sigh of relief, my eyes painfully blinded by abrupt bright light from the sun that is hanging low above us. I let my eyesight adjust completely and I almost laugh in glee at what I see in front of me.

"Here we are!" Peeta exclaims. We are close to the riverbank, and there is a giant, magical willow tree in front of us. I've never been here before. This must be almost bordering the railways to District 11.

And out of nowhere, I lose my balance and almost topple because I wasn't expecting him to suddenly push me aside. "Last one there is burnt bread," and with that, he bolts towards the tree. I've never seen him run this fast before. I smile wickedly, and run after him. Big mistake, bread man.

I catch up to him and I see he's having difficulties with his first steps off the ground and up the tree. The man has all his footings wrong. I am poised to lift myself up but I make him look at me first. I wanted him to see my smug grin as sweat starts to frame his very determined, struggling face.

His concentration on figuring out how to climb the tree is so intense that I have to refrain from bursting out laughing. In mere minutes I reach the top and settle down on a big branch and dust myself off. I peek down at him and see he has progressed halfway up the tree.

"Ah yes. The smell of burnt bread is finally coming this way," I say teasingly.

Peeta now finds a spot to sit on another branch after the climb of the century, huffing and puffing and finally admitting he's scared of heights. I snicker and enjoy the view, as long vines surround us and sway back and forth, like soft, flowing curtains, giving small peeks into the river below, the water sparkling wildly under the summer sun.

I hear Peeta quit his complaining and sigh appreciatively out loud.

"Isn't it beautiful here Katniss? It's definitely another one of those moments I wish to freeze." I let my hair fall and keep a small smile to myself as he starts to move around and grunts in between, hugging the trunk, trying to cross over the giant tree we have climbed so he could sit beside me. He plops down cautiously and smiles at me once we're on the same eye level.

We let silence engulf us as the summer breeze kisses ours skin, and Peeta has his hand partly covering mine. Ever since the surprise revelation of my bucket list, we both skirt around the topic as if my breakdown never happened, which is a huge relief to me. I didn't think he would remember anything I said though, but this is definitely the first item on my list. Hanging out and doing nothing on a tree.

"I know it's been ten years since we have reclaimed this district, and you've always been there for me," his eyes flick to the side and I catch a slight shade of red cross his cheeks. "I'm glad to have you as a friend."

I notice how he sounds almost scripted, like he's been practicing the lines over and over. Peeta fishes out three dandelions from inside his pocket, a little mangled and dried at this point, and presents them to me.

"Do you want to go out with me?"

A smile slowly creeps across my lips before I realize it.

"Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?" I ask, my smile now a full-teethed one, feeling ridiculous but my heart can't help but feel an extra beat.

"Yeah, I mean, only if you want to, I am not…there's absolutely no pressure…"

"Okay," I tell him and nod modestly; taking the dandelions he offered and twirling them in my fingers.

He inches up closer beside me on the tree branch and we let our legs skim against each other's. He must've seen the twinkle in my eye before he moves his head down, nose hovering dangerously close over mine, his tongue quickly darting out to lick his bottom lip, before he closes my mouth with his, inviting me to participate in a soft, slow kiss. A lazy kiss that makes me feel lightheaded.

I feel light.

* * *

I've been having a staring contest with a fat rabbit, about ten feet away from me, snuggled under thick bushes. It hasn't moved at all, and at some point I actually thought it was dead, or it was a decoy being used by another hunter to attract bigger animal. I stretch my bow back and aim my arrow. Looks like rabbit stew tonight.

I lose my hand and eye coordination as another arrow coming from somewhere in my far left, whizzes past and ahead of my own arrow and pierces the rabbit in the heart. I scoff loudly, hoping the other person hears it.

I stand up from my crouch position and wait as a man steps into the picture in front of me and picks up the game, oblivious of me. He is tall, with dark short hair and skinny build, a dimple on one of his cheeks as he smiled down at his bounty. My knee-jerk reaction gets the best of me as I walk towards him.

"That was my target. And this here is my area," I gesture at the trees around us, my tone bursting with attitude. I have no idea why I'm threatening him.

He looks at me straight-faced, then his eyes flicker at some sort of recognition.

"You're the mockingjay!...Katniss…" his eyes flick upwards and gets lost in his own thought as he tries to remember my last name. I turn on my heels and start to walk away.

"Wait! I'm Gio. Nice to finally meet you, you're a legend, wow, I didn't think I'd come face to face with you!"

I slump as I suddenly feel very old.

"Hi Gio. Sorry for snapping at you. See you around."

He catches up to me and hands me the rabbit he just killed by the ears. "Please take it. I have a sack-full of these," he says, and shows me his game sack laying on the ground. Very impressive.

We pick up after ourselves and walk together on the way out of the woods. He tells me he lives just minutes away from the town square, behind the street where the mayor lives. He also gushes about how grateful he is that the Hunger Games do not exist anymore, and everyone can live in peace and free from war and fear.

Our small talk continues and we head to the Hob. I have three squirrels and plenty of mushrooms to trade in. I'm keeping the rabbit.

A familiar blonde, still with his apron on, is approaching us, his pace quickening with each step. I was about to greet him until I see the scowl on his face, staring at Gio right in the eye.

"Hey Katniss," he says, although he's not really looking at me.

"Hi Peeta, what's up?" I ask, my eyes flitting across the two men anxiously. Gio extends his hand out as a self-introduction to Peeta.

"Are you hitting on my girl?" Peeta asks Gio furiously instead of accepting his hand. My eyes widen and I am taken aback by his behavior. Gio springs back, arms up and looks confused.

"No, man, I'm not…we were just hunting…"

"You were just…'hunting'?" Peeta mimics him.

"Peeta, will you please calm down," I cut Gio off, my hand automatically tries to grab one of Peeta's rock solid arms. He slightly shrugs me away from him and closes the space between him and Gio, looking up at him audaciously.

"You will regret the day that I see you around here trying to make moves on her," Peeta threatens him.

"What, with your rolling pin?" Gio asks, his patience running thin and now as agitated as Peeta. I can pinpoint that very second as the exact moment that Peeta completely loses it and I should've seen this one coming as Peeta gives him a nice, rough shove.

Gio is about to curl his fist and punch him in the nose as I stepped in between the two men about to brawl over…me?

"Peeta please stop it! What's wrong with you!" I find myself screaming at him, as I try to block out Gio's profanities behind my back, who is now keeping his distance away. Strangers are starting to form a circle around us. This can't be happening.

Chip and Ashton show up, shocked and awed, and they escort Peeta back to the bakery, slapping some sense into him as I run back into the woods for a good chunk of the night with my game sack. It's not until around 11 pm that I sneak back into the Victor's Village after stopping by the Hob, hungry and angry because I have forgotten about making my rabbit stew.

I spread thick peanut butter and devour the fresh bread that Peeta left for me on the dining table with a small note saying SORRY tucked underneath. He must have sneaked in through the back window. I wash my face before getting comfortable in my bed. It's been quite a day.

My phone starts to ring. I pick it up, knowing who the person is on the other line.

"Hey. What are you doing?" Peeta asks.

I don't answer right away; my eyes are starting to droop.

"Staying away from you." I reply, followed by a yawn.

"Come on, I'm sorry. Men get territorial over something they want to keep," he talks in a raspy voice, I could tell he's also lying in bed and about to fall asleep.

"Peeta, that was extremely…" I pause, trying to search for the right word to describe what just transpired earlier in the afternoon. "Very high school."

I could feel him smiling into the phone as he snickers quietly. I find myself grinning into my pillow as well.

"Good night Katniss," he says before he hangs up the phone.

I feel another layer of my wall crumble to the ground.

I feel giddy.

* * *

I am browsing in the town square, looking at upcoming events posted on a bulletin board, hoping not to bump into Gio. There is a sudden drop in temperature. Autumn cannot possibly be knocking at the door already. It was just very hot last week when Peeta 'officially' asked to go steady. I see an old signup sheet for the football team.

I walk past the city hall and most of the shops in the square, and head towards the field where the new football team has chosen to rehearse in. There is new wire fence up covering the perimeter of the field, and also some benches just outside. I scan the area and there's only a few of us watching the team practice. I guess the hype has not completely caught on.

I stop and approach the fence, curling my fingers around it, as men with helmets and gray and white uniform run and collide into each other, and some passing the ball from across one end of the field. The impact looks mighty painful, but they seem to easily dust the pain off.

I see someone barreling his way through a crowd and start to clap his hands together, high spirited and energetic. He slows down to a walk and lifts the helmet off his head, revealing his curly blonde hair, wet with sweat, and tucks the helmet between his forearm and his hip. His back is turned to me still, and he suddenly glances to the side, giving me a glimpse of his profile, the word MELLARK in big bold letters written across the back of his uniform.

The uniform that he fills in very nicely.

I feel the need to close my mouth and I shake some bad thoughts away, and I let go of the fence and stalk around the perimeter as he moves inside of it. He starts to stretch and flex his muscles, and despite the number of men trying to obstruct my view, they are but a blur and all I see is Peeta standing right in the middle, pushing his hair back and dropping his helmet on the grass.

I am so busy watching his bodily movements that I don't even notice that he is staring right back at me too, across the field. He has spotted me. I jerk back from the fence as if it had become alive with electricity and I continue gliding across the grass, hoping he didn't see my flushed face, keeping one eye on him and the other at what's right in front of me so I don't crash into anybody.

A referee whistles and makes an announcement that the practice is over for the day. Some men head straight inside the building and some stall around the field. Peeta is one of latter. He stops one of his team mates for a small chat and then he's left alone. The next thing he does halts my heart from beating.

He reaches for the bottom of his top uniform and lifts it over his head, giving me a gratuitous view of his chest and his sculpted stomach, stretching his muscles as he flings the uniform onto a bench. He grabs a towel to dry himself, and has the nerve to turn and check in on me again. I swing my head back so swiftly and insist I continue pacing and try to pretend I'm not looking but I bang my knee into a bench and a little girl is laughing at me.

At this point I rush out of the training area and back into the town square. I can use some lemonade.

* * *

I find myself standing outside his door. I shouldn't do this. I should be inside my own house, writing up a lesson plan, or marking my students' quizzes from today. Anything but what I am about to do.

I push the door open. It kind of surprises me that he has left his front door unlocked. I walk in, and hear the floor creak under my shoes. I take them off and carelessly push them aside. I am about to pass through the living room when I see a quick shadow in the corner of my eye and he is suddenly in front of me.

He is bare chested and there is a flimsy towel covering from his waist down. His hair is dripping with water and messy and he smells fresh, like pine needles. There is no more kind and gentle Peeta. His eyes are dark and hungry. He invades my personal space and I can't help but take a step back.

"Productive day in the marketplace?" he asks straight-faced.

"I needed to buy more spice."

"You're a bad liar."

"You're a bad climber."

His tongue seeks and demands mine as he pulls me in for a rough kiss, our teeth clashing into each others', our eyes closing at the pleasure. The kiss is wet and messy, and I had to push him back and away from me so I can breathe. His pupils have become dilated as he rips the buttons of my shirt and discards it on my feet, and he realizes I'm not wearing any bra. He gives me a sly smile as his hand flies up to cup one of my breasts, fondling it with desire, and he brings his head down to envelope my other nipple with his mouth.

My head flings back and I gasp at the sensations as he takes his time marveling at them. My nipples are very hard and my breasts wet and glistening with trails of his saliva as he switches his focus to my pants, and how much he wants to get rid of them. But before he could reach down and unzip them, I tear the towel off of his body and I watch it drop on the floor. I pause to admire his manhood, very big and fully erect, pointing at me. I'm not thinking anymore and I blush as I reach across and grasp it, and he groans inwardly as I begin to stroke its full length. I can't take my eyes off it as I watch his thickness wrapped around my fingers, my strokes getting faster and more insistent. My knees quickly find the floor and I make his silky, hard shaft enter my mouth, my tongue teasing his tip as he starts calling out to a nameless god. My head bobs back and forth as I taste a little bit of him in my mouth, my hand gripping along tighter around him.

However that doesn't last very long and he is pulling me up and carrying me, placing me down on the high sofa table.

"Better stop that or else I'm going to go."

I hear some picture frames drop to the floor and he is pulling my pants down along with my panties, in no time I am naked on top of one of his furniture. He doesn't waste any time and he lifts both my legs in the air before his mouth finds my wet and throbbing core, his tongue delving deep into my folds.

He pauses and looks up at me. "You taste delicious." He ducks down out of my view and continues his assault.

My fingers dig deep into his hair, and I am screaming nonsensical words as his tongue darts around inside of me and my neck keeps whipping back and forth and I am sure it is about to break in half and I am on the brink of going insane.

He stops and lifts me off the furniture effortlessly and almost throws me onto the couch. I keep my legs wide open and glare at him wildly, and he looks as primal as I do. He positions himself right above me, and right before he enters me, he stutters when he tells me he loves me, and I almost don't catch it.

He stretches me, fills me in with himself as he pounds hard into me, unapologetic and aggressive, and my name escapes his lips repeatedly. His hardness is impossible, and I want all of it. I can feel him close, and I am even closer on the edge myself, and I take him in, all of him, his scent and his strength, his eyes are screwed shut, his muscles so tense, my back arched with pleasure, and he's inside me, deep inside me, and he feels so good, and he is almost reaching it, and I ride it out with him, and I feel all breath leave my body.

* * *

I shudder into consciousness, the cold wrapping my bare body. I reach for my clothes quietly and dress myself up, glancing over the naked man sleeping heavily in his bed, partly covered with blankets. I check the time on the wall. It tells me it's four in the morning.

I sneak out through the window and climb down the side of the house, and run into mine twenty steps later.

I feel frivolous.

* * *

**A/N: Whew. Got over that one. Let me know what you guys think! **


	3. Chapter 3: By The River

**A/N: So in Ch2 was the first Sexy Times scene I ever wrote and did I feel uncomfortable afterwards. I cringe and can't even read the part anymore, I block it out. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like reading Sexy Times scenes, but other authors' fics, not mine :D Anyway...moving on**

* * *

It definitely is getting cooler. I'm walking home hugging the sweater tighter around me to guard myself off the brisk winds. Then again, I may be over exaggerating. I get cold quite easily.

I catch myself daydreaming about what happened the other night. I didn't realize I haven't felt that kind of…passion, with Peeta, in a long while. And that particular night will go down in the books. Although, I have to remind myself to ban this kind of thought when I am in the classroom. My students have noticed once that I was staring at the wall, at nothing in particular, mind miles and miles away. Little did they know about Miss Everdeen's thoughts zoning out into the gutter.

Peeta asked smugly if I was going to visit his training grounds anytime soon. I denied everything and told him I was never there in the first place and he shook it off as if I was obviously lying. I don't know if anything has shifted between us, but I can sense our relationship has grown an extra layer of titanium.

I approach the vicinity of my house and I see a delivery man standing outside my door. I grow curious, at the same time, alert. I greet him, and scared the wits out of him, from behind.

"Delivery package for Miss Katniss Everdeen. From your…" the man starts in a formal monotone and pauses for a very long time, "…your 'Secret Admirer'." He overemphasizes on Secret Admirer in a tone dripping with sarcastic amusement.

I take the package hesitantly and sign his form, duck into my house and study the package. I snort at it. I may or may not have an idea on who my admirer is. I tear the package apart, excited to see what's hiding inside.

It's a knitting kit, complete with different coloured balls of yarn, needles, patterns, and an instruction leaflet. I giggle loudly, probably scaring the walls of my house, and shake my head. Another item on my bucket list. I find a folded note under the leaflet.

**_BRRR IT'S GETTING CHILLY. I SURE COULD USE A SCARF_**

**_PM (secret admirer)_**

Peeta and his efforts. He has no idea but I actually collect all the little random notes he has ever written me, place them in a box and tuck them away under my bed. I find a clear spot on the floor and sit cross-legged, placing the box by my feet, and concentrate on reading the instructions. My hands play with a ball of red yarn, these same hands that will produce me a nice, warm scarf for my secret admirer.

I spend the rest of the afternoon knitting on my couch, accompanied by my Saturday lineup of shows and my herbal tea. I am getting weary of these reality TV shows the Capitol keeps making. But beggars can't be choosers.

For the scarf, I choose to inter-mingle the colours red, white and orange. Like all things in life, something new always requires familiarity, a bit of getting used to. There's a lot of blood, sweat, and good amount of tears I put into this first attempt to a scarf, or anything that somewhat resembles it.

By 4:30, I emerge victorious from my nest of scattered yarns and the poor leaflet that was somehow ripped apart. I tried to piece it back together by tape once I realized the level of need for it. I stop by the mirror to quickly check if I look a tad presentable, nod at myself and headed out the door, on my way to my secret admirer.

* * *

Peeta is serving two customers when I walk in. One ordered a loaf of bread, the other one, chocolate chip buns. I eye the buns as the woman passes me by with it. The temperature in this bakery is sky high. It is hot.

"Hey," he greets me as he fans himself a little. I approach the counter with my hands hiding the rumpled scarf behind my back.

"Business looks good today," I comment casually, noting the near empty display cabinet.

"Yeah. I will have to close earlier and work on the next batch at home. Feels like an inferno in here today."

I glide across the tiled floor and let myself through the passage way to the area behind the cash register. He has half a smile on his face, his expression reads that he is watching me intently, almost cautious of what I might do next.

I pull up next to him, almost purring.

"I have a secret admirer. And somehow he knew about my interest in knitting," I pause and my right eyebrow raises by itself. "Are you mad?"

"I am fuming. I may have to kick him in the bottom. I hope it's not Gio," he appears tired after a day's work, but still manages to look sheepish.

"Well, anyway, I have something for you." I whip the scarf from behind my back and proudly present to him the freshly knitted autumn/winter accessory. I felt he would appreciate all the orange streaks on it.

"Are you sure that's not for your secret admirer?" he's looking at the scarf I'm hanging in mid-air, unsure what to make of it.

"No…I think I like you better." I move closer to him and gingerly begin to wrap the scarf around his neck.

"Katniss, it's way too long and skinny," he looks down on the rest of the scarf hanging off of him with a bit of a frown. I call him silly and pick up the slack, and continue wrapping it around him until I run out of material. The scarf has now piled up right below his lower lip.

"It's so warm! Thank you!" he mumbles through the scarf and leans down and gives me a kiss, intentionally rubbing the fabric against my chin. I pull back and slap him in the forearm lightheartedly.

"Now you can serve top quality baked goods…with style," I say before I turn around.

"I don't know Katniss, I have a giant brick oven right behind my ass and I might sweat on this beautiful scarf," he calls out as I reach for the door knob.

"It's ok I'll make more for you!" and I'm out the door.

* * *

It was a slow day in the woods, and I had a tough time trading in the Hob. It's during this kind of drought that I am grateful that I have the part time job as a Science teacher, even though I only allocate two hours per day for the two classes. All my earnings from the 74th Hunger Games are depleted at this point in time. Peeta invested most of his Games earnings into purchasing equipment, appliance and aesthetics for his bakery, and has been returning positive net sales a year after he continued to run the family business on his own.

I haven't seen him all day. He is not answering his phone, and the bakery is closed. I was actually one of the crowds that have congregated in front of the store, curious of his whereabouts. I must have dialed his number about twenty times, and then I decided to drop by his house as a final check-in.

Come afternoon I am worried sick. His door was locked so I sneaked in through the living room window without thinking twice, my heart beating triple the rate, afraid of what I may come across inside. I turn on the light and investigate each room in the house, which he has left neat and orderly. He's not here. He's not anywhere in the house.

I stand frozen in the middle of his living room, petrified that he may be experiencing an episode, and may not even have an idea where he is. The last flashback I have documented in my head was five years ago and it involved knives, and plenty of running to and running from Peeta. That was the last, major episode he's ever had, and I'd say the worst one, because I had come very close to killing him in my defense.

I leave his house feeling defeated and enter mine, sitting on the couch and staring at the knitting kit box that he gave me on the coffee table. Just then, I spot something near the box. A small note. I'd recognize that scribble from anywhere.

**_Meet me by the willow tree at seven tonight. Wear something nice._**

**_PM_**

I feel my spirits lift and all types of relief flood me. I restrain from feeling angry, for making me worried the whole day, and instead I stride up the stairs up to my bedroom and focus on the contents of my closet. I browse through my casual wear, then perk up as I remember the closet where I hide all the dresses that Cinna had created for me back in the day.

The first thing I notice is another note sticking out, clipped into one of the hangers.

**_Wear this one_**

**_PM_**

I pull out the hanger and gasp at the nostalgia brought on by the sight of a long, sleeveless yellow number, laced and embedded with pearls and diamond studs, empire waistline. The layer beneath the laces is a lighter shade of yellow, made of fine, soft silk. It was one of the dresses I wore on a victory tour, although the specific district where I showcased it escapes me.

I glance at the time. It's 5:30 pm.

It seems like Peeta has everything arranged because as if on cue, Ashton shows up outside my house and waits until he sees me parked on the street around 6:30. He teases me about Peeta during most of the drive, and I try not to fan the flame. Our meeting place is a little bit far up northwest on the way to District 11, and I didn't want to walk the road in a mesmerizing yellow dress.

I thank Ashton as I leave the car, and my heart is beating out of my chest. My black pumps descend onto the soft grass as I scan the area in front of me. There are cute lighting fixtures hanging low off the willow tree branches holding big candles inside. Right underneath the tree is a table covered in white cloth with red trim, and two chairs also donned in the same cloth. There is a round glass in the middle of the table filled with water and a floating red candle inside. Off to the side of the dining set is a long buffet table holding a number of closed trays, with built-in heaters underneath that keeps the food warm.

A server greets me as I try to absorb the scenery in front of me, and he smiles as he sees the pleasant look of surprise on my face. He leaves and walks toward the table of food, and stands there without saying another word.

My breath hitches in my throat. My senses are working overload and I feel I'm about to burst.

I hear scuffling behind me and I see Peeta smiling, approaching me with a stem of red tulip. He is wearing a dark blue suit and a black tie, clean-shaven and his blonde hair gelled back. He brushes up against my arm and he hands me the flower, takes my other free hand to kiss. He moves a step back and takes his time observing my body, the way the yellow dress hugs my curves, lingering a bit longer at exposed arches of my breasts. His gaze settles back up on my blushing face and his hand comes up to hold my jaw as he steps in closer to kiss me tenderly.

"You look beautiful," he says in a hushed voice.

I am speechless. My mouth looks like it's about to speak but I am staring at his face and he looks so handsome.

"Shall we?" his arm outstretches and gestures towards the river, where the willow tree and dinner awaits.

I sit on my chair, mirroring Peeta's action. I am still smiling like a fool. The waves on the river grow a bit stronger as slight wind picks up, and I marvel at the comforting scent of nature.

"Peeta this is…such a wonderful surprise. Thank you," and that's all I could come up with. His eyes are twinkling from the burning candle below us, the long leafy vines from the willow tree swaying majestically behind him.

"I hope you're hungry," he says.

"You can count on that," I tell him. It's true. I didn't eat the whole day from being worried about his disappearance.

His head turns and he is looking far into a distance, as if waiting for something. I try to look at what he is suddenly engulfed with, and I shoot him a confused expression.

"Wait, I have one more surprise," he says. And out of nowhere he calls out somewhere far into the dark, "Here girl! Come! Let's go!"

A small little thing starts running towards me, with two dark beady eyes, all covered in white, curly fur. It has a rolled up paper in its mouth, and for a while it looks like it's having trouble keeping it in tact.

"It's a puppy!" I am beaming at the sight of the cutest thing I have ever seen. It sits down in front of me and drops the paper on the ground.

Peeta is off his chair and tends to the puppy.

"You see, we've been practicing this running bit a lot," he pets the small animal and puts the rolled paper back in the mouth. The puppy looks up at me expectantly. "She wants you to take it," Peeta whispers to me.

"Oh!" I lean down and pick the paper from the puppy's mouth. She yips at me as a response.

"She's a bit shy, but she seems to like you already," he gets up and reclaims his seat across mine. My lips are hurting from smiling too much and I gather all will to stop myself from picking her up and putting her in my lap because Peeta is telling me to unroll the paper.

It is the menu for tonight.

_Appetizer_

**_Seared Sea Scallops_**

**_Butter Leaf Salad_**

**_Mushrooms Neptune_**

_Main_

**_Braised Lamb Shanks with Rosemary and Steamed Rapini_**

**_Citrus Honey Brined Smoked Turkey_**

**_Lobster Tails_**

**_Served with either: Risotto or Wild Rice_**

_Dessert_

**_Brownie Sundae_**

**_Passion Brulee_**

**_Apple Crumble_**

My heart stops. These are food imported from the Capitol. It takes me a couple of seconds to piece two and two together. My bucket list. This is another item on my bucket list he's checking off. The puppy. I mentioned a puppy on my bucket list. My emotions take the reign and my lower lip starts to tremble and I feel tears converge in my eyes. He was gone the whole day battling it out and dealing with Capitol people just to get these items, and probably this puppy, across the country and into this district.

"Peeta…"

He suddenly has a distressed look on his face as he realizes I'm about to turn on the water works. He tells me it's ok and that we should order now because our server is growing restless, kicking pebbles into the river.

I can't help myself, but I inhale my food gracelessly. Peeta looks amused and he tries not to watch me eat. The puppy has fallen asleep right by Peeta's foot, her bowl of dog food now empty. We chat over our empty plates and wine glasses, as he tells me the pains and trials of getting the food delivered away, and we laugh at all the questions he was asked at the border as he was trying to leave the Capitol.

Night has completely fallen and he rises from his chair, extending his arm and asking me for my hand. I gladly give it to him and I also stand up and we both stretch, groaning outwardly at the sudden change from our sitting position.

"May I have this dance?" he asks. I have a ridiculed look on my face and glance around us. There is nothing here but the sounds of a light river and the rustles of the towering willow tree above us.

"Peeta, we don't have music," I remind him. He pulls me closer anyway and wraps his arms around my waist. My arms and hands lift up and encircle around his neck, closing the gap between us even more. I find myself hypnotized by his lips as they begin to move.

"You can sing. It was one of the reasons I started falling in love with you," he says. I sigh inwardly and my head has not stopped spinning since I got off Ashton's car.

"No Peeta, I want you to sing," I challenge him.

"Katniss," he says firmly, "there is only one singer in here and it sure isn't the dog or the server and most importantly it isn't me, so come on, sing anything," he insists, burying his lips in my hair. "Trust me, you don't want to hear me sing."

I pull my head back to show him my lower lip jutting out in hopes he'll grant me my request.

"Alright, alright. You asked for it. Don't tell me I didn't warn you," he gives in. He's looking up at the night sky, trying to think of a song, face in deep contemplation. He starts to sway me from side to side, one of his shoes almost stepping and crushing mine, and he takes a full breath of air as a buffer. And he starts.

"When I'm feeling blue…"

I bring my head down and rest it on his chest, and lightly giggle at the choice of his song.

"…All I have to do…"

I smile as I hear his heart beat under my cheek, and his voice reverberate through. I intake his smell and sigh contently. What did I ever do to deserve something like this.

"…Is take a look at you…"

I feel loved.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for the support so far and reading along! However...I am on my 3rd chapter and Who Wants To Be my First Reviewer?! I appreciate all the views but I am barely getting any love :*( and I don't quite know what that makes me feel...maybe it feels like I'm doing something wrong with the story.**

**I'd so welcome any feedback! I will love you like Peeta love Katniss.**

**I don't know what to name their dog yet. But the song is by Phil Collins, something classic and something I was fond of during my childhood, because I can't imagine Peeta singing Love You Like A Love Song, or Slave 4 U. Which I love too by the way.**


	4. Chapter 4: By The Lake

**A/N: Hi! I am back from my Las Vegas-UT-AZ vacation with the BF! It wasn't relaxing at all because we camped at the national parks. Except Las Vegas. We lived it up there! But the parks were beautiful, the canyons were awesome, the hikes were tough but I survived! The places were almost extra-terrestrial. Anyway, on to the story...**

* * *

It is quite a sight as I walk into my morning class and all my students are already sitting down and well behaved, each one turning to look at me in synchrony, smiling. It stopped my tracks completely, and I gauge if I should run back out of the classroom because something feels off, and I don't want a part of any of it. I feel like I'm walking into a trap.

"Good morning Miss Everdeen," they say altogether. This is surely continuing to freak me out. A student sitting in the back has started to snicker.

"Hi everyone…" I greet with uncertainty. That's when I swivel my head towards my desk and see a vase full of white tulips. I approach it and place my bag down on the desk, and smile at the flowers.

"Anybody know who put these nice flowers here?" I ask, playing innocent.

Nobody twitches a muscle, and I have never heard the ticking of the clock sound this loud in this classroom.

"We're not supposed to say, but it's a guy," the brattiest, and also happens to be the oldest student of mine I strategically assigned to sit on the front row blurts out. Some girls behind him start to hiss at him.

"Alright. Let's play Question and Answer," I declare. Almost everyone nods at me. "Do I know him?", is my first question.

"Yeah!" they answer enthusiastically.

"Is he cute?" I am trying to look stoic but I am simple minded and I find this somewhat fun.

"Yeah!" only the girls seem to respond to this one.

"Do you like him?"

"Yeah!" the classroom almost shakes in agreement, and some students are giggling.

"Do I like him?"

The class pauses and they seem to be studying me, and I suddenly feel small standing in front of the room.

Once again, the brattiest kid is the first one to talk; crossing his arms behind his desk and has a defiant look on his face. "More than you like to admit."

* * *

I am welcomed by Pebbles yipping away at the door as I enter my house. I have never seen anything this excited to see me, as she stands on her short hind legs, begging to be picked up. I cradle her and start to coo, her tail wagging even more uncontrollably as soon as I scratch her stomach because it's her favourite. I lean down and blow a raspberry in her tummy and she tries to bite my hair with her little mouth in retaliation. I tell her that biting my hair is bad and I point a finger at her but she just dismisses what I say and begins to lick my finger instead.

Wanting a dog as a pet has never crossed my mind until around a year ago. Same sentiment can be applied when I was left with Buttercup. I never liked the cat. After the war, she was my companion, along with Peeta and Haymitch. It was a comforting feeling to have another living, breathing thing inside the house. I had grown to like her somehow. But one night she passed away, perhaps of old age, curled up inside her favourite cupboard in the kitchen I always forbade her from getting in to. A year after that, Haymitch followed into the dark. All the drinking binges had finally taken a toll on him, claiming his liver. The man can never take care of himself, and it was unbearable to see him deteriorate.

My guilt and that nagging feeling of defeat from losing Buttercup and Haymitch was gradually replaced with the need to prove to myself that I can maintain and nurture life. I need to keep the circular motion of life going. I felt there were too many deaths that went through my hands and something needs to change.

And all of these thoughts are supported by Peeta as my foundation and my wonderwall. He is the positive reinforcement of my life, helping me see the good in everyone and in all things. In order to elongate life, this life I fought hard for just to live it, I must diminish the negative to make room for the positive.

I put Pebbles down on the floor and she sits there and looks up at me. Something in the living room catches my eye. I walk to the coffee table to place my bag down and I see a stem of yellow tulip displayed in the middle of the table. I smile as I pick it up.

I slide the hallway closet door open to grab dog food and I am distracted by more tulips, pink this time, placed on each shelf. I gather them one by one with a growing realization. I find another flower on the dining table. On top of the TV. On the kitchen counter. The closer I get to different furniture and surfaces in the house, the more flowers I discover and pick up.

I run up the stairs, excited to uncover more tulips, and I do. They are in my drawers, on the vanity, on the end tables, a number of them scattered across my bed. The last tulip I actually almost overlook, for it sits right on the window ledge. It's the only red tulip Peeta has ever arranged for me to find. There is a note sitting underneath the flower.

_Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature_

I take the tulip and admire its rich red colour, and graze my fingertips against its petals. I have become pensive over the note, and I feel suddenly gloomy, and I can't help but think about Prim. My father. Peeta's family. The many lives lost over the recklessness of the war.

Prim would have loved Pebbles. She would have liked all these tulips too.

I gaze out the window and the see that the sky is losing its colour as more gray clouds roll into the horizon. I cast my eyes downwards and see Peeta walking on the stone pathway approaching my house. He is wearing old jeans and sneakers, and judging by the football jersey top he is still wearing, he just finished practice.

He tells me autumn is a good time to plant trees as he opens the gray bin he lays down on my front porch, revealing five maple tree saplings inside. Tree planting, another item on my bucket list. The first sapling I choose to plant in front of my house, many feet right before the steps.

I pick up the sapling and study the slender trunk, the small leaves, and the roots hiding in the pile of soil. There is life in these tiny roots. Along with nurturing and maintaining life, I also want to create life, something that will grow tall and strong for years and years to come, radiantly changing colours as seasons change.

He hands me a small shovel before I stoop down, not caring about the dirt I'm about to accumulate on my knees, and start to dig into the earth.

The second sapling I plant in front of Peeta's house. The third one right beside his bakery. The fourth one in the back of one of the schools I teach in. And the last sapling I decide to plant somewhere Peeta has never been to before.

At first Peeta's reaction is half a laugh, followed by a bit of concern, when he realizes we're entering the woods.

"Oh well, at least we're not hunting," he casually says, shrugging his shoulders then double checking the last maple sapling inside the bin as he crushes dead leaves, leaves that were plucked off due to cooler weather, underneath his shoes at an impossibly loud footing. It seems like he does not lift his feet at all when he walks through the woods. I cringe silently as I see birds scampering to fly out and above the tall trees ahead of us.

The main trail disappears in front of us and I lead him away towards the bushes where a fallen oak lays, old and still solid and thick roots upturned. We hop over the dead tree and continue on a hidden path. We duck under many sharp branches hanging low, some have managed to scrape Peeta's face, and we are finally presented with a clearing, littered by big, unfriendly rocks. And beyond the rocks is steady, small body of water.

I point across the lake where my father's war-battered, little summer house is still partially sitting, and partially covered by evergreen trees. "I spent a lot of my childhood there," I tell him, "It's where I learned how to swim." I had deserted this hideout for years, wanting to ignore or perhaps erase memories with my father. Today I felt a sudden need to revisit him and to also open up to Peeta a little bit more.

I think it's a perfect place to plant my last sapling.

Peeta is surprised, and suddenly interested.

* * *

First things first, I choose a patch of soil before I mark off where I plant. I emerge minutes later from hunching over the ground and crack some bones on my back, stretching my arms and legs. Gardening is quite exhausting. I subconsciously bring a hand up to my forehead and realize I am now covered in dirt and earth, small dry twigs sticking in my hair. Peeta is standing by the main door into the cottage, his gaze fixated at me.

"You're filthy. You should shower inside," he suggests and disappears into the house. I call out to him, wiping the soil further across my cheek.

"I will give you a tour of the house first."

I am surrounded by nostalgia as soon as I step through the door, the scent of old, damp wood floods me, taking me back to a time buried deep in the recesses of my mind. I close my eyes and shiver at how powerful some of these memories are, and if I try a little harder, I can almost smell my father. I shake my head and blink at Peeta, who is studying me up close again.

"Are you alright?"

I shoot him a smile because I don't like the worried look on his face. I take his hand and lead him around the cottage. There is not much in here, just a living room, a small kitchen, and a small bathroom. Most of the furniture is broken down by time, and an awkward chunk of the roof is missing, most likely grazed by giant passing bullets or bomb.

I stop near the back door and spot a picture frame, front side down flat on the floor. I tread carefully towards it, and I'm not sure why I almost feel hesitant to see which picture is in the frame as I turn it around. Peeta pulls up behind me and looks on as I reminisce over my parents' picture, stained and watered down.

"If only my dad could see how much everything has changed," I whisper into the frame, my hands gripping its sides, "…and how much I miss him."

I feel Peeta's hands rubbing my back, then he lightly kisses the side of my temple. He's trying his best to comfort me, telling me that my dad is in a better place, and that he would have wanted me to continue being happy even if it's not with him. And eventually, everyone will go as they have come, and it's just a matter of time. And I finally turn to look at him and his sad, blue eyes, reflective of the hurt and suffering he is feeling himself from losing a whole family.

I hug the picture close to my chest and lean back on Peeta, his arms wrapping around me from behind, supporting me, like always.

We march outside and spend the rest of the late afternoon watching the faraway sun set behind the trees, cross legged on the huge rocks bordering the water, making jokes and bouncing rocks off the surface of the lake in front of us.

He suddenly stands up and stretches, his hands swiftly taking off his shirt as his arms fly up. I remain unaffected and confused.

"If you're not going to shower and get all nice and clean, I will," he declares. He is now reaching for his fly and zips it down without batting an eyelash at me. He then gestures and points a finger at me to remind me of all the mud that has now solidified on my face.

"Peeta, that is lake water and it is cold," I warn him, emphasizing on each word.

He is now in his underwear and he completely ignores me as he allows himself space to back off of the lake shore and run towards the water at an increasing speed, hops on a big flat rock, arms locking around his legs as they lift up off the rock, and makes a grand, graceless splash into the water.

I stand up and inch forward, propelled by worry when I don't see his head pop up over the water. Somewhere in the middle of the lake, his blonde head emerges and whips back water off his hair, teeth clattering, and screaming his throat off.

"AAAHHHH! CCCCCOLD!"

I hear more birds flapping their way out of the woods.

I chuckle as I walk towards the end of a flat rock, looking down at him while he is flailing his arms, trying to remember how to swim.

"It's been a while since your last dip. Remember the quell?" I ask as I start to reach for the bottom of my shirt and hike it over my head.

He has stopped flailing and is now just floating, shaking like wet duck. I try to suppress more chuckle as his face reacts to me stripping off my pants after I flung my shirt away.

"Teach me again!" he is grinning like a fool and his initial shock to the cold is starting to subside. His grin disappears into a straight line as he watches me get rid of my bra, and lastly my panties.

I stand above him, arms on my hips, totally naked. I try not to show how cold I really feel.

"I could use a scrub first, if you don't mind?"

He is looking me up and down, nodding at me fervently, and he seems to have been frozen in his spot. I smile before I charge, off the same flat rock he launched from, and into the water. The cold of the water is almost paralyzing that it almost numbs me, and I push my head up to try to find Peeta. It is now dark, with mere stars in the sky illuminating us.

I swim up towards him; both our arms crossed in front of us as an attempt to keep some heat in, and laugh together as we tremble. He reaches out and grabs me by the shoulder to pull me close, his hand caressing down the goose bumps on each of my arms.

He backs away and scoops water in both his hands and brings them up to my face, slowly wiping the dirt off my forehead, and ladles more water to gingerly clean my cheeks. And in between the wipes, he makes sure he kisses me, his lips cold and wet, some kisses linger longer, and some very quick.

I close the gap between us and let him embrace me as we drip with water, skin to skin, goose bumps colliding into each other's. One of his hands snake up to cup my breasts as my eyes automatically shut, the roughness of his fingers sliding off my damp skin. I have always known that Peeta loves my breasts, and I love that he does.

He stops fondling, much to my dismay, and encircles me with both arms, his chin resting on my shoulder as we remain floating, dimly lit in the water. And even though the air is chilly, his breath is warm against my skin.


	5. Chapter 5: Full Circle

My Sunday afternoons usually consist of laundry, some knitting, a lot of cleaning, and Peeta idle, draped over my couch watching TV. He is on his lazy position, but this time his attention is not on some action movie on full blasted volume. He is playing with Pebbles, torturing my dog with a small squeaky toy duck. The damn thing hasn't stopped squeaking since Pebbles approached Peeta with it in its mouth as soon as he hit the couch.

I am across the living room from them, wiping the kitchen counters clean, watching them wearily with wistful eyes and a bit of disdain. I just finished cleaning that living room and it was serious labour. Whenever Peeta comes over, my dog turns into a small ball of hurricane. Her energy level just shoots up and she constantly wants to play with him. However, when it comes to her behavior around me, she likes to be picked up, or sit on my lap, or just snuggle next to me.

She has managed to pick up on our different personalities and camouflage right into them.

I barely catch the sheepish look on Peeta's face as he freezes the hand he uses to throw the toy duck in mid-air, accumulating more excitement on Pebble's end, therefore pushing her further into the brink of insanity, my poor dog. Peeta glances at me and gives me a quick smile as he throws the squeaky toy duck my way and it drops by my feet.

"Go get mommy!" he yells at Pebbles, and her tail is wagging so hard it looks like it's about to tear off and whir away. I give Peeta a small look when he called me mommy. That was the first time he has ever referred to me as that. I don't quite know how to feel about it. But it sounded kind of nice.

Pebbles yips as she sets off in my direction, almost hopping in motivation, but I ditch my cleaning rag and pick up the toy before she is able to bite it off. I tease her with the toy before I fling it back to Peeta, who barely catches it and almost falls off the couch.

After what seemed to be an endless back and forth of chucking the little toy across the room and Pebbles failing to grab it, we stop and decide that would be it for her exercise of the day. I give her the toy duck and she gladly takes it, and toddles away, panting, towards Peeta still sprawled across the couch, and flops down on the floor dropping the toy, looking up at him.

His eyes soften as he finally gets off the couch, all his mischief out the window, and stands over a very overworked Pebbles. He bends over to pick her up gently and holds her in his arms, like a baby, chirping sweetly at her. He starts to sway her back and forth, as if lulling her to sleep. The dog has turned completely immobile in his grasp, her beady eyes slowly drooping.

He stops baby talking to Pebbles and turns to look at me, his face beaming.

"Dogs are sort of, almost like children. I think they're a great preview before the real thing," he tells me, winking at me over his shoulder as he slows down his little dance. "Except you can't leave children unattended in a house for eight hours with a bowl of food on the floor." He takes his finger and rubs the tip of Pebbles' tiny black nose and she snorts in annoyance.

He proceeds to hold her underneath the arms and lifts her up slowly to his eye-level, making silly noises and apologizing for waking her up. He turns to me again and asks, "Do you think I can be a dad now?", with a small, enthusiastic smile, his eyebrows waggling.

I don't really answer his question but I say, "You know, they're cute until they start talking back at you."

I am feeling warm and fuzzy all of a sudden, and I am not certain what to make of this, but I sure am starting to see him in a different light, if that was even possible.

It takes a good couple of hours until Peeta switches off his lazy mood and is now up, clamoring around in my kitchen. I find myself also draped over my couch this time, a little treat after all the cleaning that has just transpired. My senses are shutting off and all I am able to hear from what Peeta is murmuring in the kitchen, in between banging of pots and pans, is "…going to go bake cookies…" before I drift into slumber.

* * *

It seems like mere seconds when I open my eyes again but the clock tells me it has been an hour of that power nap I just took. I swing my feet over and touch the floor as I sit upright, yawning and stretching, feeling re-energized. I wiggle my toes and feel something weird and soft underneath it. I turn the sole of my foot towards me and see a blue rose petal sticking to my skin.

My gaze follows to the rest of the flowers on the floor, pooling right below me, and out into what looks like a thin trail of more rose petals, but mixed with white this time, leading away from the couch and disappearing around the coffee table.

**_Follow the petals_**

There is an instant smile on my face as I pick up the note and stand, fixing my hair, and there is a refreshed feeling of excitement.

I adore the changing colours of the different petals scattered on the floor as I walk through the living room and onto the staircase going upstairs. The trail extends through the hallway, passing my bedroom, and it stops right outside the bathroom door. I reach for the doorknob, confused. I never know what to expect from Peeta sometimes.

I let the door fly open, revealing to me a continuation of the trail of petals, up until the corner where the bathtub sits. On the ledge of the bath tub there is a silver tray full of cookies, and right beside it, on a smaller silver tray, is a magnificent candied apple.

I feel my jaw drop.

A candied apple. It has been many, many years since I was able to savour in the crunchiness of an apple and the sweetness of the candy that covers it. I float towards it, and slowly descend to the level of my bath tub ledge so I can observe and appreciate it closer.

But the more I maneuver closer to the tub, the more I realize what is in it.

The tub is filled with steaming hot water and partially covered in big bubbles; also there are yellow petals that are floating and some that have sunk into the bottom of the tub. The water smells familiar, like green tea and bamboo, my favourite scents, and I spot a bottle of small bath oil sitting by the faucet as my confirmation. These bath oils are only imported from the Capitol.

I did mention in my bucket list, somewhere along the lines of eating a candied apple while relaxing. The yummy chocolate chip cookies are a bonus.

A hand suddenly comes up on my shoulder from behind me as my reflexes over-react and I jump at the contact. I spin around and see Peeta wearing a half-amused face.

"Once again you have rendered me speechless. Where did you get this?" I gesture at the apple, and glance down at the inviting waters inside the bath tub behind me.

"Eleven. You have no idea how many apples the orchards from that district generates. It's autumn so it's on season. The candied apples are on special. I have nine more for you," he says.

My eyes are twinkling at him and he knows it. "Nine more! You should have a couple. Please, have some." He just smiles at me and shakes his head. We both know he doesn't have a sweet tooth. By now he is turned off by anything sweet, since he has baked sweet goods almost all of his life.

"It's ok Katniss. I got you a lot because I don't think I'm travelling back to Eleven any time soon."

He suggests he take my clothes away so I can dip in the water before it gets cool. I don't argue with that as I start to strip my top and bottoms off, handing my discarded clothes to him as he ventures to my bedroom. By the time he comes back into the bathroom with a pile of new clothes for me to wear after my bath, I am sitting comfortably in the tub, putting big bubbles on top of my head and my knees.

The warmth and the sweet scent of the water captivate me and sooth me so well that I may nod off into another power nap right inside the tub. I shake my head off and focus on my cookies and my yummy candied apple, waiting for me to devour them.

Peeta scuffles out of the bathroom to leave me to relax for the rest of the late afternoon, picking up Pebbles who has been waiting diligently on the other side of the bathroom door. He tells me he will be taking her with him for the meantime, and that he bought her a new bouncy ball.

* * *

I am not aware of how long the rapping on my front door has been dragging on, but judging from the increasing volume of the knocks, the person may be getting agitated from waiting. I emerge from the bath tub and dry myself quickly, slapping on the clothes Peeta left for me. I glide down the stairs, yelling "Coming!", in hopes the person could somehow hear. The knocking stops.

I open the door and what is bestowed in front of me is Gale Hawthorne, both hands in his pocket, body leaning over the door ledge, his head sporting a short buzz cut. I remind myself to blink and breathe, and I take my time getting through the door to stand outside with him and click the door shut behind me.

My heart is beating wildly, but I don't think it has anything to do with romanticism. I swallow an invisible lump in my throat.

"Catnip. It's been awhile," he greets me. I nod at him, gauging his movements and his appearance. He is slightly thinner, has deep under eye circles and he seems to have shaved in a quick haste, my eye for detail criticizing his uneven facial hair. He is also sporting scars above his right eyebrow.

We walk side by side towards the woods under an unspoken mutual agreement. He coughs a couple of times and I ask if he had colds. Even our small, less than casual talk is awkward until we are a good distance inside the woods. All I'm thinking now is how curious I am to know how Peeta managed to convince Gale to fly back here to District Twelve. And how much involvement he had in Prim's death.

"How have you been? Talk to me Katniss," he pleads. I jerk my head back, distracted, as if that was the first time I noticed his presence. I approach a big boulder nestled in between bushes and sit on top, followed by him.

"I'm well, thanks. I teach part time. How about you? How's the fancy job?" I ask him. If I remember correctly, he is now a Command Sergeants Major in District Two.

He chuckles. I am suddenly overcome with sadness associated with Gale's old laughter.

"I don't know if fancy is the right word. I'm starting to get bored with it, but it does pay the bills quite well." He starts to reach for his pocket and brings up a black leather wallet.

"I have a little boy. He's quite the firecracker." He picks a picture out of his wallet and shows it to me. "His name is Westin." A handsome, smaller, bald version of Gale is smiling at me, and I estimate that he must be two to three years old. He seems to take a lot after Gale's facial features, except the eyes. They're timid, and reserved. Almost fearful.

"I have a little puppy if that somehow evens us out." I tell him. He looks surprised, but his eyes are smiling. He then switches his gaze to a far off area in front of us.

"Westin's mother and I are not married, but I am working towards it."

My eyes flit sideways at him to steal a glance and his face looks blank, devoid of emotions.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I pause and it hits me that the question is cutting too close to personal but it does add to the conversation. He shifts the ball of his foot from side to side, looking down at the patterns of the rock we're sitting on.

"I don't know if I'm the marrying type. Besides, marriage is a big commitment. And I don't know how committed she is," his face sours for a moment.

"She has given you a son. Doesn't that warrant enough?" I remind him. He just shrugs. I sense loopholes in this story and I begin to wonder if I had anything to do with his visible, damaged faith in women. We share a short moment of silence until he speaks again.

"How are things between you and Peeta?" he asks. I felt this question coming from a mile back.

"Things are very well. He's great," I'm trying to contain myself and I do not want to appear like a gushing teenager to Gale. "He's everything I could ever hope for."

Gale is now staring deep into my eyes, I'm not sure what he's searching for. He smiles before he tears his gaze off of me, slightly shaking his head.

"That's good. That sounds very confident."

Another round of silence wavers between us and we shift uncomfortably on the rock. The dark is slowly eating up the town. I invite him to dinner but he politely refuses, and tells me he has a military assignment in a District Twelve defence post.

"Katniss, there is something I've been meaning to tell you, about...Prim-" he starts and I quickly stand up and grunt while I stretch because of a need to overlap the words that are streaming out of his mouth. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about it. I'm not dealing with any of this right now. It's easier this way. I continue to close my ears and let my mouth run.

"Gale, it's done, it's all in the past. Let's just...forget about it, okay?" I try to sound cool but my heart twisted a little bit the moment he said my sister's name. He's glaring at me, inert and dumbfounded. My mind and eyes are overworking, trying to find fillers, distraction in between. I don't want to open flood gates of emotions right now; either spitting in rage, or raging in tears.

I let out a breath of air and spot a high ant mound on the ground, long trail of big red ants marching out of it and towards the boulder. My eyes continue to follow the line of ants, and it stops under Gale's shoe, and some have separated and made it up on his shoe lace. My lips curl into a smile, and my hand flies up to cover it.

"What are you smiling at?" he asks with furrowed brows. His eyes follow my gaze, catch the trail of ants on the ground, and suddenly pauses at realization. His leg twitches hard in mid air, shaking it violently. He is now on his feet and yelping away, scratching at his pant legs. I have never seen Gale Hawthorne lose his cool like this. He curses the ants, and starts to reach for his belt to take off his pants so he could rattle them off but realizes I'm watching this whole thing unfold so he stops himself while gritting his teeth, a look of distress on his face.

I can't hold it any longer and I burst out into fits of laughter, my hands on my stomach as I guffaw at him uncontrollably. I haven't laughed this intensely in a while. Tears are converging in my eyes and I try to calm down, and this time, I'm the one who is scaring birds out of the woods.

* * *

It is around eight pm when I reach home, the light on the front porch switched on and I could see Peeta and Pebbles waiting for me, sitting by the door. I give Peeta a quick kiss and take Pebbles, and I find myself almost humming a tune. He is smiling at me and asks how Gale's visit went. I casually tell him it went okay.

"Did you take him to visit Prim?" he asks straight forward. He is also looking at me with a straight face. We are both frozen on our spot, assessing each other's movements, and thoughts.

"No," I say, as if it's the only right answer. I'm looking back at him suddenly irritated and he blinks in mild disbelief. I shrug and enter my house, him following closely behind. I put Pebbles on the floor and she scampers away, and I head for the closet to hang my jacket. Peeta is about a foot behind me, just hovering. He continues to follow me until I am in the kitchen, approaching the refrigerator.

"Just wondering, how old would Prim have been now, twenty two? Twenty three?," he asks nonchalantly, almost right into my ear. "She would be finished college by now? Maybe on a relationship with a boy?"

He sounds too casual, at the same time, challenging me, and I don't know what he's up to so I don't answer. I open the refrigerator door, grabbing leftover spinach soup and turkey. I place them down on the counter and start to reach for plates in the cupboard. I am suddenly not hungry but I must keep moving.

"You practically raised her like she was yours. The only thing you really cared about."

I whip around before I get to the sink and scowl at him. "What do you want, Peeta?" But he ignores me and insists he stalk me around the kitchen from within two inches.

"She was almost taken away once. Then you became her heroine and you saved her. In Thirteen, as refugees, you were also trying to save her. Somewhere along the way, surely it must've hit you how the only thing you ever did was try to save her."

I am getting agitated and I have no idea why Peeta is doing this to me. He is being a jerk, and I am having none of this. I pick a glass and fill it with tap water, taking a full swig. I fill it up again with more water and put it on the counter. "Leave me alone," I whisper, at nothing in particular.

"But you tried taking care of her, you really did. In the end, she merely suffered the same fate as your father...blown into-"

My vision is slowing in motion and all I see is my hand picking up the glass and throwing the water at Peeta's face. Why is he being so mean to me? I hear the glass make contact with the floor and shatter to bits, and I watch as my own hands curl up in resentment and pummel angrily into Peeta's chest. Next thing I know I'm running clumsily out of the house and into the expanse of my backyard, stopping in the middle. And he's still right behind me, and I'm screaming at him, although I can't make out what I'm saying because I'm weeping like a small child. He firmly yanks me back by the forearm and cups the sides of my face and makes me look at him, his eyes finally softening, the cruelty diminishing. He's holding my shoulders as my punching slows down and weakens.

"Shhh..Katniss, it was not your fault..." he reminds me quietly.

"Gale...Gale didn't kill her, did he? He couldn't have...I-I knew he cared for her like, like a family, right?" I'm sobbing in between, and my nose is running and off into Peeta's shirt. He's nodding, and rubbing my shoulders up and down.

"He didn't know," I'm shaking my head wildly from side to side. "He didn't know Prim was in the crowd," I hiccup and his hand is now caressing my back. "It was all Coin's order...the uhh- the bombing..." I'm babbling, my sentences reckless and incomplete.

I feel my knees give in and I crumble down, but Peeta steps in and holds me steady upright with an arm around me. I turn into a mush in his grip but he is forcing me to stand with him. I finally pull back a little so I can look at him.

"I miss her. I miss Prim so much..." I lean my head down on his chest and sob uncontrollably, "...my little duck." His free hand reaches up and holds the side of my head, his fingers slightly rubbing my hair. He just holds me still, and allows me to cry.

After Peeta whispers sweet nothings of comfort, he allows me space to clean myself. My face is a mess of tears and snot. I wipe myself on my sleeves, and he also offers his without hesitation. His attention is suddenly at the skies above us, looking out into the dark, and perks up at an idea. He grabs my hand as he turns on his heels, and walks away in quick strides. He is pulling me far into the other Victors House's backyards, hopping over low fences with a sense of urgency.

He ignores my questions and request to stop running until we reach a clearing, free of trees. He plops down on the grass, cross legged, encouraging me to do the same, and offers his legs as a pillow for my head. I'm too tired so I don't argue as I lay down, feeling the coolness of grass on my back, and Peeta's eyes still on the sky. Once I get comfortable, he glances down at me while he points at it.

"Look over there," he says. And I see it. Straight in front and above us, is a small crescent of white moon, slowly emerging from behind the tall trees and the mountain. I hold my breath at its magnificence, its ascension a glorious process, as the sliver of moon enlarges and bleeds yellow hue into the dark, illuminating the thin veil of clouds around it. Peeta and I don't exchange a word as we wait until the moon has completely emerged from the bottom horizon, and it continues to float upwards, bright and mighty, a full moon of late September.

We smile at each other, the light from the moon making our teeth glisten.

He starts to point again upwards, but at something different this time. It's the stars that are scattered across the blanket of black.

"They're beautiful," I say, amazed at the beauty of the stars.

"Prim is still here. She is in the starlight," he points at the hundreds of stars twinkling above us. "She's in you, and she's with you. She has never left," he says.

I sigh and study the patterns of the heavenly bodies overhead, and maybe if I try a little harder, I can almost see her. And feel her. I nod slightly, a cool breeze of autumn wind passing through us, making the grass rustle.

"She is all around me," I close my eyes and exhale. I smile upwards at the sky and I feel free.

She surrounds me like a circle.

* * *

**A/N: The last scene was inspired by a real event, when my BF and I were camping in Algonquin. Come nightfall, out of nowhere he grabbed my hand and we ran through the woods until we reached the lake, made me sit on a huge flat rock with him, our shoes almost touching the water below, and while the moon was slowly rising in front of us, he proposed to me.**


	6. Chapter 6: Bitter Winter

**A/N: As some of you may know, it's the end of Q3 2012 so I've been super swamped with work. Alas, the load slows down today, and I've had a bit of trouble trying to dip my feet back into the story. Booo writer's block.**

* * *

I am standing by my door and my hand is digging deep into my bag looking for my house keys. I really need a new bag. This one is old, and not very functional. It is a challenge to fish anything out. I need something bigger, leather, and perhaps a brand name from District Eight. I have never entertained brand names before, but I may treat myself this time.

I finally feel the cool metal against my skin and pull my hand back up, and with the keys, I have managed to drag up something else that sounds like rattling sands and it drops on the floor. I scamper to pick it up; as if I was nervous that someone would see it. It's my pack of birth control pills. I shove it back in my bag and head over to Peeta's.

I have asked him to bake star-shaped shortbread cookies for my students and I'm trying to help him. We're progressing well into the night, and the cookies that are out of the oven and already cooling on the counter we are inserting into small plastic wraps, tying different coloured ribbons around to close it.

He is perched over the sink, rinsing sticky batter from the bowls. "Katniss. I know I've been telling you this for years, but you are going to have to learn how to bake. No excuses," he sounds definite.

I pause from arranging the cookies, hunched over a wide basket and glance at him from across the island counter. He is peeking at me from over his shoulder.

"I _have_ to?" I ask.

"Yeah. I need someone, you know, to carry on the business forward. Mellark Bakery, Serving Quality Baked Goods Since the Dark Ages," he recites in formality.

I have detached from my basket and I'm now standing upright with my hand on my hips.

"Is there anything I should know and are you going to disappear on me Peeta Mellark?"

"Well, no, but just thinking ahead. You have to be prepared for future situations. Either you, or…," his eyes shooting upwards as if seriously considering something, "…our kids will have to run this bakery one day." His eyes descend slowly back down to mine and he's waiting for my reaction. I usually have none, especially in regards to matters such as children, and not just any children, but 'ours'. I react anyway.

"Children, Peeta?...I don't know," and it isn't much of a reaction. I'm playing with a string of ribbon in my hand, suddenly imagining a little version of Peeta, or me, running around in the kitchen, being cute and wreaking havoc with Pebbles. It will be like having two little balls of hurricane. I shake my head, look up, and shoot Peeta a smile.

"Look, I know it takes thoughtful planning to have kids. I think with the income that is being generated from the bakery operations, I'll be able to support our family…if we were to have one," he wipes his hands off a kitchen towel and approaches me. "And you, you can go back to teaching if you want, or just do something you enjoy at home and knit, maybe get a flow of income from that."

My mind is doing loops and calculations, and now I'm not really sure what has been stopping me from stepping up onto the next level in my relationship with Peeta. Suddenly I find myself trying to trump down the voice of my sixteen year old self that was revolted at the thought of having children due to past circumstances.

"I have been playing with the idea lately…" I finally admit to him, and such a short sentence took quite a lot out of me. This time he returns my smile.

"Just imagine. They'll be little hunters, or bakers. They'll have your magnificent singing voice or your accuracy," he cocks an eyebrow at me, "and from me, my uhh…" he trails and his pensive face is back on, and he can't seem to come up with anything. "…my stunning good looks, I guess." We both laugh but he's laughing harder. He seems to be enjoying this so he continues.

"We'll have cake and cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And when they're being bad, that's when you butt in and punish them and say, 'That is it! We are eating squirrels tonight! No ifs or buts.' and they'd be all excited and go, 'Yay, squirrels!"

I am now laughing as hard as he was earlier as he sneaks his arms around me and locks his hands behind my back.

"That's terrible," I tell him as my laughter finally dies.

"Squirrels usually are."

* * *

I toss and turn in bed, positioning and re-positioning my arms, legs and my head, in dire need to find a comfortable spot. It is a bit after three in the morning, and it is chilly in Peeta's room because the window is about two inches open, as per old habit.

I scoot nearer to him, the handsome pile of bones and muscles sprawled across on my left, one of his arms clutching a pillow, and the other placed underneath my neck. I press closer to his side as my right leg, having a mind of its own, twists around his, and I let my fingertips slowly trace the planes, the rise and fall of his chest, adoring every inch of his milky smooth white skin.

My eyes continue to luxuriate and crawl upwards and stop at his neck, studying the curve of his Adams apple, and further down, that dip between his collar bones. I linger there for a bit, suppressing my want to press my tongue against it, and then I continue my focus on to his well-defined chin and the strong angles of his jaw line. I love the structure of his jaws, strong and masculine, and I'm suddenly fighting the urge to touch it. Moving along, to the curl of his thin lips that I love to kiss. I take note of the growing facial hair that makes him look rugged and in which I find too irresistible. I admire his long, blonde lashes that naturally curl, and his blonde hair in disarray against the white pillow.

I feel the corners of my lips tug into a smile. I am looking at his face and I begin to think of thoughts that rarely occupy my mind, and start to imagine how our son or daughter may look like. I am caught in a flash of images of a bouncing little baby. I wonder if my daughter would inherit Peeta's eyes, or if my son would have dark brown hair like mine. I imagine their little hands and little feet, and how they would sound like when they cry. Or when they call me mommy.

Peeta breaks my reverie as he shifts in bed, and once he registers the feel of my skin against his, he inwardly curls his outstretched arm under my neck and draws me in a little closer. I continue to watch him, my eyes awake and smiling, until his eyelids start to crack open, slowly and hesitantly.

He looks like he's painfully wincing as his eyes dart down at me, hazy and drunk from sleep, "I love you," he mutters, and adds some sweet-nothings, promises me forever, repeats them some more, and falls back to sleep. It doesn't take long until I follow back into slumber.

I wake up shivering and my hands are rabidly searching for my undergarments sitting on the end table. I sit up to put them on and quietly leave the bed, picking up my clothes that have congregated on the floor below me. I button my jacket as I note the layer of frost on the window. It has not stopped snowing since Peeta and I finished baking shortbread cookies earlier in the night.

I kiss the tip of his nose lightly before I leave the room, tread down the stairs quietly, and crawl out of the living room window. Two feet of fresh snow greet me on the ground as a cold puff of winter wind slaps snow flakes into my face. Once again I have sneaked successfully out of his house, and I'm not quite sure why I even do it, but old habits die hard and I'm still trying to kill this one.

* * *

There are smudges and dust on my bathroom mirror that I have been analyzing quite tediously. It's on the upper left hand corner of the mirror, and I blindly reach for the glass cleaner and the rag sitting on the sink. I reach up and spray on the dirt repeatedly, followed by hard scrubbing. I let my hand continue to glide across the area of the glass, appreciating the sparkle and the clarity it leaves behind. As I put the rag back down, I realize I'm now studying my own reflection.

Twenty eight years have slimmed my cheeks, and carved a shallow wrinkle on my forehead. My hair does not have the same thickness or the luscious bounce I once had when I was young, but it's still nice and long. My eyes look a bit tired, and I now possess working hands. Even though years have been added to my life, I'm confident to say I am still radiant, and I have aged gracefully.

I throw the rag into the garbage bin and close all the cupboards underneath the vanity. I pick up crumpled pieces of papers, random receipts, and some strands of my hair I have left in the bath tub, and also throw them all into the garbage. Lastly, I open one of the drawers and survey the inside, gathering empty medicine bottles, old toothbrushes, and empty containers of lotion, to chuck into the garbage as well. Somewhere deeper inside that drawer, as if hidden with care, I spot the rest of my birth control pills and grab them, all packaged neatly by month, and contemplate over them with my hands. I marvel at the types of medicine that is invented these days, and the specific effects they have on the human body.

I play with it some more, and feel myself inch closer to a new decision as I try to look ahead into the future the way Peeta does.

And I send the birth control pills away to suffer the same fate as the rest of the garbage.

* * *

I finish my morning class and bundle up before I head out to pay Peeta a visit in his bakery. I'm eager to tell him that the students loved the cookies so much, and that I have finally softened up to the idea of having children after a painstakingly long time. I finally feel free from the guilt that suffocated me after losing Rue, and Prim, and it's time to shake away and step forward from the claws of the past that have always held me back. Nothing is more refreshing than an epiphany.

I wrap my own knitted scarf around my neck and trudge happily into the snow. I spot a few of my students, mostly boys, marking their territory in a park during their recess and throwing snow balls at each other. I make a quick stopover at the market to buy mushrooms and spices so I can make Peeta a bowl of soup for tonight. I continue my journey through the snow, my cheeks and nose red from the chill.

The scene outside the bakery is of an old familiar one, with people milling about by the main door. The bakery is closed again during its peak hours. I should suggest to Peeta to leave a sign on the door that notifies customers he is away for the meantime. I whip my phone out of my oblivion of a bag and dial his number. His phone does not even ring. It's turned off. I huff and turn around and head for his house.

As soon as his house appears in my view I am overcome with a heavy feeling of dread, noting the door that is left wide open. I start to run towards it, almost toppling over myself, and slow down as I reach the door. Some snow have made it inside his living room, scattered about and starting to melt, creating a pool of cold water on the floor.

I let myself in and switch the main light on, and shut the door behind me. The house is robbed of heat and it is severely cold. And what I see in front of me is choking my heart from beating, as I scan the whole first floor with very alert eyes.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._ I hear my own heart right up in my ear.

The couches are in disarray, and it looks like they have been pushed and pulled from a good distance. One of his shirts is tapered carelessly over the window, as if brought on by paranoia of someone from the outside looking into his house. The lamp shade is laying across the coffee table, and coloured pencils and small tubs of paint are dispersed all over the floor. The wooden legs of his art canvas are cracked, tucked in the corner of the living room, and I wearily approach the canvas itself, laying on top of all the broken wood, and mere strokes of thick, black paint strewn all over it.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._ The beats are echoing louder and louder.

"Oh no…" I whisper to myself when I conclude that Peeta is having an episode at this very moment.

"Peeta?" I finally ask the room. I bolt up the stairs and peek in nervously through each doors, and confirm that the rooms are untouched. However this doesn't add to my relief and I barrel right back down to the first floor, pacing back and forth, trying to think, to get my brain working, but all I'm hearing is my heart beating in a frenzy.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. _ I take a deep breath and try shut down my emotions. I need to clear my head.

He is not in the bakery. He is not in his house. He can't be in the woods; he wouldn't go in there without me, would he? I'm looking out through the kitchen window, hoping I could see him in the backyard but there is nothing there but thick, unplowed snow. Where could Peeta possibly be?

A part of me is scared, somewhat expecting him to appear from behind a wall and chase me with a knife, so I remain still and vigilant, hands ready to defend myself. A sudden thought sparks in my mind and I waste no time as I head out through the door and begin to trudge through the snow.

* * *

The cemetery gatekeeper is looking at me suspiciously through a protective glass wall from inside his little kiosk by the gate. He is a very old man with thin, white hair, wearing khaki jumpers and a white shirt. His desk is laden with loose earth, and there are three flashlights organized in a neat line, and a neglected crusty muffin on top of disorganized papers. His phone has been ringing and he has been ignoring it.

He is shaking his head, as if he is bogged down by fatigue and he does not want to deal with me.

"I'm telling you, there has been no visitor here today. Have you looked all around you, girl? Ain't nothing here but snow," he tells me, half wheezing.

"Can you at least let me in? Please?" I beg him. He lets out some inaudible noise that I somehow make out as complaints, put his winter jacket on slowly, and leave his kiosk. He appears from behind the metal gates of the cemetery and unlocks it. I nod at him as I spring right by him.

"Just don't you get buried in there like the rest of them," he suggests, and a nagging feeling of fear crawls up my arm, "In the snow, I meant." A new set of snow disembarks from the heavens and lightly graces us. I don't respond because I am rather creeped out by what he told me, as I make my way through trees and tombstones, careful not to step on anybody.

I pass by Prim's cross, and quickly dust away the snow that have covered the candles, and the old, wilting flowers Peeta must have placed on it earlier in the month. It's only a few feet now before I reach Peeta's family's grave site. I am suddenly having a hard time breathing, and my legs are cramping. I continue to drag through the snow, regretting the weight of my bag that is swinging from my shoulder, entertaining the idea of ditching it with the old man in his kiosk.

My eyes shrink at the sight a few yards in front of me as I make out a figure squatting on the ground, frantically digging into snow, the lightness of his blonde hair mixing in with the fairness of the snow around him. I hold my breath as I approach Peeta who is too occupied scooping up snow and throwing it aside. His back is towards me and seems to be clearing his father's makeshift tombstone.

"Peeta," I begin, petrified, and I forget at this very moment how I managed to handle him back when his episodes were more frequent, which was ages ago. And it's definitely something I don't try to remember either.

He suddenly tenses up, arms frozen and shoulders rising and falling, like he's been panting hard. His head slowly turns towards me, followed by the rest of his body. We are staring at each other, and I remain about ten feet away, refusing to move any further.

"You," he says with disgust. As soon as he takes a step toward me, I take a step back. My arms and hands fly up in surrender.

"Please remain calm, it's just me. It's me, Katniss…I'm your friend…" I say patiently, my voice trembling.

"It's you. It's because of you this whole country went to hell. And as if you weren't happy enough with that you just had to drag my whole family down, didn't you," his other foot comes forward and he takes another full step. I take another one back.

"…please remember…" I make a loud wish. The cold is starting to hurt the exposed skin of my fingers as I keep my hands raised. I am also hurting my head trying to come up with reasons why this episode was triggered in the first place.

"You killed them!" he shouts angrily at me. "You're a mutt."

I'm shaking my head wildly and tears are brimming in the corners of my eyes. And in one swift movement, he is pulling up a gun from his pocket, and points it straight at my head. He takes another step forward. Oh no.

_It's a gun it's a gun it's a gun._

I'm defenseless, walking backwards like a coward, and my shoes are making it hard for me to move through the snow on the ground.

_It's a gun it's a gun it's a gun._

My thoughts are bouncing at me, a red flag waving. I recognize the gun. I've seen that somewhere.

_It's a gun it's a gun it's a gun._

I remember. Chip and Ashton. Apartment. Moving boxes. Personal Belongings. District Thirteen. Firearms. Illegal firearms. Firearms that were supposed to be returned to District Thirteen Military to be locked down in a high security volt. Sneaky firearms.

How do I escape from a gunshot? Do I run away? Do I drop into the snow? Do I play dead? Do I die here, right now?

In the midst of my life being threatened by Peeta's hands, I see something from my side vision move. My eyes slowly roll to the right and spot the old man gatekeeper running back out towards his kiosk. Help, I plead quietly.

"Peeta you don't have to do this," I cry. My life tries to flash before my eyes and all I see are happy memories with Peeta and Pebbles. Lady. Even Buttercup. Prim braiding her own hair. My dad singing. My mom sitting in her favourite chair looking out the window. Flowers. Haymitch. Haymitch's geese. Summer nights. Dancing by the river. Hot chocolate in autumn. Peeta's scarf and mittens. Rue whistling. Braised lamb in rosemary. Candy apples. Peeta's notes. Peeta's sport magazines. Peeta's cleft chin. Peeta's smile. Peeta's cookies. Peeta's apron. Our willow tree.

Seconds stretch into what feels like forever, and I feel cold tears streaming down my face. He is screaming at me, calling me names, telling me things that hurt and that are untrue, his hands shaking as he maintains the iron grip around the gun.

I see that he is weeping too, and it's odd. He never weeps during an episode until now. He is crying, but he looks savage, spiteful, tinged with a killer instinct. I see sweat framing his forehead, and the shade of his face slowly turning red.

He takes another step forward, but this time, I dare myself to not move.

I close my eyes and hear an explosive sound and I am pushed back with such brute force, my bag drops on the snow and I see my mushrooms roll out all over the ground. Oh no. I need those mushrooms to make him a bowl of soup tonight.

My eyes swing open and try to rise up, using my elbows to perch me up from the ground. My ears are still ringing, and my loud heart beats have returned, and I shake my head to make it go away because it seems to be all that I'm hearing.

I'm on a half-attempt to a sitting position and I cringe as my muscles sting and complain, and I am so dizzy and I'm having difficulties trying to figure out what is happening in front of me. I see police men gathering around Peeta, some are holding his arms back behind him, and some are punching him in the stomach. One police man punches him in the face when he tries to resist and fight back. I see that the gun has been knocked out from his grasp and it sits on a patch of tall dead grass, and the police are still trying to contain him as his rage continues.

I try to find my hand so I could lift myself off the ground but I see something alarming. There are trails of blood, contrasting and staining the white of snow surrounding me. Random, round stains of blood. I look down at my beige jacket and realize it is soaked in more blood. I wipe at it and bring the hand to my eye level, and I squint at it.

My head is racked with enormous pain, my breathing slows, and everything turns black.


	7. Chapter 7: Inspirit

**A/N: I know this is kind of late but, Happy Thanksgiving Canada! And I know the latter part of Ch 6 was a bit of a punch in the stomach, sorry about that, and if anyone felt like swinging a pan at my head, and you know, not just any type of pan, I meant one of those heavy wrought-iron ones, the Creuset type, it's absolutely understandable I'm cool with that. All I could suggest to keep in mind is that the story ain't over yet! Happy face!**

**For Thanksgiving I am thankful for all the support, and a big, big, big hug to janeeyre54, jflowera, and cat813 for wonderful feedback and words of encouragement, for accompanying me in my story :)**

* * *

I feel everything around me swirl, rotate, and pulsate, but I am immobile. I hear harrowing noises everywhere, but I don't see anything. Gusts of wind try and blow me away from different corners of the dark, making my ears ring, and I still can't move, my feet anchored down into deep ravines of a massive unknown.

A beam of piercing white light blinds me, and when I open my eyes, I am watching myself from a distance, limping, trying to run through the rain, gasping for air. Strands of wet hair are plastered to my face as I shake droplets of water from my eyebrows and my lashes. The soles of my shoes have worn thin, and I try to ignore the pain that is inflicted upon me as my feet graze over small rocks on the ground.

The burnt bread is warm against my chest, tucked inside my jacket, as I keep an arm secure over my torso. I'm heaving heavily, my lungs starting to sting, the rain beating down hard at me, unforgiving. I hug the bread closer, desperate to send it home with me. The happiness that lifts me at the thought of providing dinner for my family is unequivocal. And my thoughts start to dance around the kind boy standing outside the bakery door.

I hear my own echo rumble through my body.

"Endure a little more, Katniss. Everything is going to be okay."

My breath hitches in my throat as I almost slam into the front door of my parents' house, eager to duck in, my fingers splayed over the door knob. I turn it and push the door open.

Suddenly, Peeta materializes from behind the door, looking timid and somewhat unsure. He is donned in a simple white undershirt, and black shorts, and offers me a quick smile before he steps forward as I allow space to let him inside my dimly lit room. I close the door and look on as he walks towards my bed, and then he glances back at me as he takes his seat. I adjust the straps of my tank top and subconsciously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I don't care about the flying rumours on this train. I don't care about Effie's dense comments that mildly embarrass me over dinner. Peeta is here again, and he will help ward off the nightmares that visit me in the night, and that is all that matters.

I crawl in bed and snuggle up next to him as he covers me in thin blanket, and I rest my head on his arm, watch as he breathes through his mouth, I feel my eyelids flutter, and the world shuts down.

* * *

I hear whispers of my name as my vision weakly resets. I am engulfed in an endless blur as I try to blink it away. My senses unite, creeping back to me as I realize I am lying down on a hard surface, being rolled over the floor.

"Katniss…"

"Katniss Everdeen…"

It's on everyone's lips. And I'm not sure if they are repeating it out of recognition, or out of alarm. I let another wave of darkness claim me down to nothing.

* * *

My mother has not stopped fussing over me since I have returned home from the hospital and now risen off my back, sitting comfortably against a giant pillow behind me. I have asked her to open the curtains of my window to let some natural light inside the room but she tells me the sunlight is too intense since the sun rays tend to bounce off the snow on the ground and reflect up, and that it 'might start a new round of headache for me'.

I sigh as she hovers over me some more, asking if I want more tea, or if the huge bandage covering my left shoulder needs refreshing. I've had about four mugs of tea by now, and getting to and from the bathroom on a wheelchair is already quite a feat.

"Mom if you keep poking at it, it might start a new round of bleeding for me." I feel the need to kick myself for being mean to her. I know she's worried about me and she just wants to help me recover, and that I should be grateful. And then my soft thoughts get replaced by the fact that I can probably do without her. And I have.

My left shoulder has been feeling very sore, as if there is a big boulder resting on it. If Peeta shot me three inches to the right, I would probably have to resort to haunting him in his sleep, pulling him into nightmares every night. It has been three days since I found myself face to face with a deranged and armed Peeta, three days that I have been bedridden, and three days of thirst for any news regarding him and his seizure. On the fourth day, I sit up and request if I could look out the window.

This morning the same policemen who arrested and dragged Peeta to the police station visited me in my home for an interview, inquiring about the events that led to the shooting in the cemetery. They inform me that he will be serving prison time for possession of an illegal firearm, and backed up by the fact that the weapon was supposed to be housed in District 13 makes the offence more serious. After subjecting the gun to a weapons analysis test, the investigative unit has verified that the firearm is registered under an Ashton Bentall. Ashton showed up at the police station first thing in the morning and came forward, before his apartment was broken into by the investigative team. In turn, Peeta's sentence is reduced to a few months. The police urged me to press charges against Peeta for shooting me in the shoulder, and I refused vehemently.

"Miss Everdeen, once Peeta Mellark grabs the next available weapon closest to him and hurts another person, you may be deemed an accessory to the crime if you don't cooperate with us. Do you understand?" the policeman asks, he has carried a chair into my bedroom and is sitting by my bedside, his partner standing behind him with hands on his hips.

"I assure you he will not commit a crime. He would not just randomly shoot innocent people," I pause to shake my head. "It's different. I'm...," I am suddenly finding it difficult to finish my sentence. "...I was his only target."

"From what we have gathered, you two are involved in a relationship," the other policeman asks, now pacing back and forth. "Any problems recently?" I fidget in my seat.

"No. Our relationship was fine, thank you," and that is all I plan to feed them about my personal life.

The policemen shoot each other a look I can not decipher.

"So he just...shot you because he felt like it?" the police man in front of me asks with furrowed brows, and whips out his notepad and starts jotting down his notes.

I take a deep breath and try to measure the amount of information I will have to reveal to them about Peeta and his flashbacks.

"He used to have issues, from more than a decade ago, chemical imbalances that were triggered somehow in his brain, in which I thought were resolved."

The policeman taking notes is looking at me like I have grown an extra head on my shoulder, while his partner has stopped walking and is now crossing his arms.

"Miss Everdeen. This man imposes danger to you. We strongly suggest you apply restraining order on him since you decline to press charges. But we can not help you without your consent."

"I don't need your help. Please get out of my house." My face is set on stone, my eyes unfocused and staring out the window.

"Katniss." I hear a small, yet stern voice coming from the doorway, and see my mother standing by the doorway slightly shaking her head at me.

And so the policemen left, followed by my mother's apologies and half-hearted offer of tea or coffee in which they politely refused.

I lay back down in my bed and ready my blanket for another nap, exhausted from talking, and if I was tuned in correctly with my body, I'm glad to declare that the throbbing of my shoulder is diminishing.

* * *

I resurface from sleep, my head feeling a little cloudy from confusion as I wake up reaching out for Peeta. I calm the heartbeats and sit up again, fluffing the pillow behind me without asking for my mother's assistance this time. I rub my eyes and yawn, the clock on the wall reading 3:30. The curtains are still mostly covering my window, only giving me a small slit of view of the sky outside, and the sunlight trying to pour completely into my room.

My mother enters the room with a tray holding a steaming bowl. She places it down on the end table and looks down on me. "You have to eat something," she tells me. I peer down on the cream of broccoli soup, inviting and rich. But I lift my chin at it.

"I don't like broccoli. I never did." My gaze flies right back at the window in front of me and my stomach is starting to growl.

"You can't afford to be picky right now Katniss. You either eat, or die of hunger, if that bullet wasn't enough to kill you!" her tone is rising and so is my anger.

This holds my attention and I am glaring at her, agape.

She whips around before I'm able to see her fully cringe and starts folding my clothes that have formed into a pile on an end table, footsteps heavy. "Damn it, Katniss."

She looks determined, ensuring that the fabric is well flattened before she lifts corners up and neatly folds them over to the opposite end. She puts my shirt away and picks up the next garment, which happens to be Peeta's old shirt. She holds it up, confused first, then her face moulds into a realization. Her eyes dart at me first before she places it on the flat surface and smooths the fabric. I have a reinvigorated desire for the cream of broccoli soup still steaming on the bedside table and I reach for the spoon.

"I don't know...I wouldn't be so sure..." she begins and pauses, and I turn my head to face her as I wait for her to finish, with the spoon still lodged in mouth. "...about Peeta. I don't think you should see him anymore."

I gulp down the soup and feel the warmth down my throat and let out a sigh of contentment.

"Mom. Since when were you interested in my love life?" I ask her. She drops a pair of pants and turns around, facing the wall, her hands finding her hips.

"He's no good for you Katniss," she insists, as if she knew, talking to the air in front of her. "You could have died-"

"Since when were you interested in anything about me?!" My face sours behind her back and I abandon the spoon into the bowl of soup in irritation.

She is ignoring what I'm trying to say and makes sure she gets her point across "...And I am not losing the only daughter I have left." She stops abruptly and subconsciously straightens her dress, and takes a deep breath to calm herself down. She doesn't bother to look at me as she takes a step forward and leaves the room.

I don't twitch a muscle, and let my chest rise and fall at each breath, simmering in the silence caused by my mother's sudden lack of presence. I blink and wait if a tear is forming in my eye, and conclude that there is none. I refocus on the bowl of soup, now exuding just a little bit of steam, and hold it underneath my chin, and all I am thinking now is how to make it myself as I eat another spoonful.

* * *

I assume the sun is setting as I try to gauge the light coming through the slit in between the curtains over my window. I fidget and groan out of boredom, my feet finding the floor as I finally, and slowly, stand up. I stretch happily, and tread towards the window quietly. Just as I reach for the window ledge, I hear my mother march back into my bedroom.

"Your legs holding you up alright?" she asks me casually. She has a basket of clean laundry in her arms and she puts it down on the floor.

"The last time I checked, I wasn't injured there, so I guess I'm alright." I glance back at her and give her a small smile. She gives it back to me.

"Mom, what do you miss most about dad?" I ask her as I start to circle the room to keep my body moving, a reward after being idle for days.

Her smile turns sad but she doesn't need to think twice about her response.

"Your father...," she clears her throat, "...he used to come home and bring me flowers from the market place on Sundays. It was never for special events or holidays. It was one of the ways your father showed me he loved me. Peach carnations," she says. I start to walk back to my bed and sit down. She prepares my medication and hands me a glass of water. She is good with monitoring time for my pills. "And he had quite a zest for life."

She now positions herself over my wound and opens the bandage carefully. I keep my eyes off of my shoulder and watch Pebbles sneak into my room and sit by the door, looking up at my mother. She proceeds to clean and then cover my wound again, applying new bandage.

She leaves my side and busies herself again with anything she could find scattered on the floor, picking them up and putting them away. She watches as Pebbles stops from stalking her around the room and disappears under my bed, making noises as if she is bumping into something. My mother disappears from my sight and bends over, trying to catch my dog with both hands, and as she gets ahold of her, I hear more rattling and my mother coming across some type of revelation.

She straightens up, holding my closed shoebox of compilation of Peeta's notes over the years. I give her a disapproving look like she is not supposed to touch it.

"Oh. Sorry for scooping around. Here, I'll put it right back down underneath..." she trails and starts to put it away, Pebbles is being Pebbles, nipping insistently at her heels.

"No, it's ok, just leave it here on my bed. Thanks," I say, contemplating if I should open the box at this point in time.

"What's in it?" she asks me, her mood has completely improved and she sounds more like a friend. I'm holding the box, running my finger along its sides.

"One of the ways Peeta has shown me he loves me," I tell her with a grin, right before I open the cover.

I hear myself gasp, my hand lifting up to cover my mouth as soon as my eyes settle at what I see inside the box, sitting on top of the old, hand-written notes. It's a dying red tulip, aged with black spots, wilting and curling around the edges. I can't exactly estimate how long it's been hiding in here. I don't know when Peeta placed this flower behind my back, and I can't believe I only spotted it now. He has finally figured out that I have kept his notes after all these years. I pick up the fading flower and twirl it in my fingers, a new note sitting atop the old ones, catching my eyes.

**_I love you, to the moon and back._**

My hands begin to tremble, and I am surprised by how quickly my tears materialized, gushing violently out of my eyes. I let out one desperate sob, my face writhing in pain, as the dead flower drops on my lap, and I hang on to the note. My mother looks stunned with worry as she sits on my right, placing a hand on my good shoulder. She keeps her distance as she tries to read me, and I can sense her mind overworking, trying to figure out words to comfort me, then just decides to remain silent because she has accepted that she doesn't know how, rubbing my shoulder gently up and down, and lets me weep for Peeta.

* * *

The next day I walk my mother out of the house as she leaves to travel back to District Four. Before she goes through the door, she turns to me and softly pulls me into an embrace, and reminds me to see where my thoughts mostly take me, and that's usually where my heart is. I ask if she will visit me again in the future, and she smiles at me and tells me that she thinks of me a lot, more than I can ever imagine.

* * *

I am waiting impatiently as the prison warden reads over documents and recites to me the rules and regulations for visiting a prisoner. I am permitted a contact visit, and we venture through dingy hallways until we reach a gray door monitored by a giant of a guard. They exchange some inside jokes, then good-heartedly snipe at each other, the guard finally unlocking the door behind him. And right before I enter a large visiting room furnished with tables and chairs, I catch one of the policemen who has interviewed me earlier in the week, standing on the other end of the hallway, and gives me a quick nod.

I was excited when I was on my way to the prison, and now that I am sitting here on one of the many chairs in the very end of a long table waiting, I am drenched in cold sweat and my fingers have not stopped playing with the handle of my bag. I watch as the second hand of the wall clock ticks along.

I nearly jump out of my seat when the door creaks open and two security guards appear and walk in, with Peeta walking closely behind them in a gray uniform, head hanging low. I spring up on my feet as the guards continue to walk and leave us alone as soon as they reach my end of the table. Peeta is standing still, hands locked behind him by a handcuff, his breathing calm and even. He slowly lifts his head up to finally look at me.

"Katniss-"

And I crush into him, my hands encircling around him and touching him as much as I could, my head burrowing into the crook of his neck, a joyous type of shiver running down my back. I hear a guard huff from behind and order us to sit down across each other, and that we are only allowed a measured amount of physical contact. We conform and I tear away from him, glancing at the guard with dismay.

Peeta has not stopped staring at my shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" he asks me awkwardly, glossed over with concern.

"I'm very well, yeah," I nod at him, glancing at my shoulder. "I'm healing at a good rate. My mother flew in from Four and I pretty much did not leave her sight." I shoot him a smile to reassure him. His eyes seem to be darting everywhere at me, from my hair, to my lips, to my neck, the button of my shirt. Anywhere but my eyes.

"Katniss. I am so sorry. I didn't mean it..." he finally refocuses his blue eyes onto me. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he is talking in a hushed voice, trying to compose himself. "Please forgive me." There is hurt in his eyes, and regret, and an infinite sadness that it boomerangs and hurts me back, adding to the melancholy that I am already submerged in. There are shadows on his face that were never there before.

"I'm fine, I'm recovering quickly, Peeta. Please don't worry about me," I yearn for his hand but it's out of reach for me. I extend my arm over the table and run my hand around his face instead, thrilled by the contact of his skin against mine. "I forgive you," I tell him, and hope that it would stop him from over-worrying.

He closes his eyes and his head tilts to the side and leans further into my hand, his lips kissing my open palm.

"I think this is how far I could kiss you. I'm not allowed to steal one from the lips," and for the first time since the beginning of the visit, he allows me a small smile that flashed a little bit too quickly.

"I liked it. I'll take anything I could get," I tell him and try to smile back at him but his head suddenly dips low again, and I am left staring at the swirls of his blonde hair. I give him a moment and before I could reach out to him again, his head swings back up at me and his eyes are bordered with silent tears. I could hear the security guard behind him telling us to wrap things up and he needs to go back to his jail cell.

"Katniss, I don't know if I could ever forgive myself," his lips are quivering and my heart has almost stopped beating at the sight of him, my once kind and gentle Peeta, so broken, and hopeless. "I almost killed you..."

The security guard is adamant at reminding us to finish the visit, and continues to mumble something, but we don't pay him attention.

"Peeta..."

"...And I thought wrong. I'm sorry, I got it all wrong," he struggles maintaining eye contact with me. "...I thought I was ready, and I thought I wanted it, but...I...uhmm..." he trails and has started to hiccup, my eyes feeling wet from another set of tears that are ready to fall. "...I'm not fit to be a father. I'm sorry...," and as quick as a first tear rolls down his cheek, the same security guard grabs the handcuffs behind him and gathers a fistful of the collar of his uniform before he hauls him upwards and drags him off his seat, and away from me.

I watch helplessly as he is being pushed out of the room, his head appearing and disappearing over the guards' broad shoulders as he is forced to walk away, trying to look back at me one last time, calling out my name. I could feel my own hand move and clutch at the fabric of my shirt, over where my heart is supposed to be, and wonder if it is possible to die from a broken heart.

* * *

**A/N: **

**The Scientist (by Coldplay)**

**Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry. You don't know how lovely you are**  
**I had to find you, tell you I need you. Tell you I set you apart**  
**Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions. Let's go back to the start**  
**Running in circles, coming in tails. Heads on a science apart**

**Nobody said it was easy. It's such a shame for us to part**  
**Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard**  
**Take me back to the start.**

**I was just guessing at numbers and figures. Pulling the puzzles apart**  
**Questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart**  
**And tell me you love me, come back and haunt me. Oh and I rush to the start**  
**Running in circles, chasing tails. Coming back as we are.**

**Nobody said it was easy. It's such a shame for us to part**  
**Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be so hard**  
**I'm going back to the start.**


	8. Chapter 8: Platform Three

I keep my routine in check. I keep the schools, the hob, the town square, Pebbles, and the woods close to me. As long as there are students to teach and animals to kill, there is an inflow of income. I am getting much better at knitting, I am down to my last candy apple which is still sitting in the refrigerator like it's something precious, and my trees I have planted all over the district back in autumn have survived through the claws of winter. My left shoulder though, is significantly weaker; the small, round bullet wound a magnificent, weak shade of red, rough and pinched.

Old friends and acquaintances whom I have drifted away from over the years are suddenly rebuilding bridges to reach me. Effie, out of all people, called a couple of nights ago, bursting with encouragement and trendy hairstyle tips. Gale calls twice a week to ask how I'm doing, and he also makes me talk to his son, as cute as button. He keeps telling me he will let me talk to his girlfriend next time.

Word gets around very quick.

Since the unfortunate ordeal with Peeta in winter, my appetite for food has waned and deserted me. Delly saw me walking home from school one afternoon and she noticed how thin and haggard I looked. So sweet Delly has been coming over, bearing fruits and leafy vegetables to add to all the endless meat I have in stock, and she makes me watch her cook hearty meals. Sometimes I swear she mentally weighs me and then decides how much to feed me for dinner. My mother calls me as well, from time to time, leaving me messages when I happen to miss her call, and in those she usually sounds alarmed.

All of it gets mighty awkward, mainly because I can't maintain decent relationships with these people, and suddenly they are kind and are interested to know if I am in proper condition to teach again, or if I was able to keep the bag hanging on my good shoulder just fine.

But the gesture sure is lovely.

This morning I heard the birds return, lined up outside my window.

Everything is thawing from their solid state, cast in golden light, soft on the edges, however I can't help but still feel disheveled and cold on the inside. Motions are changing, except the fact that I am still in love with Peeta, and I am unphased with my decision to bear his children. He has withstood several years' worth of time waiting, helping me come into terms with myself as I tackled my personal demons, albeit fainthearted at first. I hope he lets me help him tackle his.

I let the hours burn and the days go by. I already know what it feels like to lose Peeta like this, by force, when he was captured by the Capitol during the quell. Although back then when I was younger, despite the fact that I nearly lost my mind, I had one foot out the door and I was ready to give up on him. Fight, or flee. And I was fleeing all over the place.

* * *

On the brink of springtime, as the delicate layer of ice blanketing the grass melts and turns into dew droplets along the sidewalks of Kingston Avenue, Peeta is released from prison. He stands outside the penitentiary gate, his head swiveling in all directions as if searching for something, and finally catches me looking at him from across the street. The colours of the world are waking up, bringing things back to life.

Peeta is almost unrecognizable, his blonde hair longer and untamed, curls turned into messy waves. He has neglected shaving and his face is bordered by rebellious facial hair, now sporting a thick beard. He has a little scar I've never seen before, probably from the scuffle he had with the policemen in the cemetery, when a burly cop tried to connect his fist into his chin in hopes of knocking him out. Peeta looks rough, his eyes meek and tired, and I can't help but feel some lights that used to reside there have gone out. I could sense his thoughts speeding, overlapping each other, embodied in eerie silence, avoiding my eyes as much as he can.

There is a type of uneasiness about him ever since he has re-entered his house, dropping his bag on the floor and doing a visual sweep across the room. I'm standing by the corner shelf near his TV, where a small potted plant sits, a snow globe that I gave him during the Christmas when I acquired my first teaching job, and a framed picture of the two of us. It was taken about two winters ago, during an outdoor New Years' celebration in the town square. Everybody must have left their homes and flooded the square come the eve to greet the new year. The place was packed. In the picture, there is a string of small yellow lights above us and Peeta looks sheepish, facing sideways and has me wrapped in his arms. He looks focused on me, like he is about to sweep me into a kiss, my hands clamped on to his jacket sleeves while I am fully facing the camera, caught in the middle of a laugh.

A smile sneaks into my lips at the memory and I break away from it, and turn to Peeta, who has not moved in his spot, observing me from two couches away. He gives me a half a smile while he takes off his shoes and before he picks up his bag. He is minimal with words since I picked him up from prison, and he's dodging away from conversations that I try to initiate.

"Thanks for cleaning the mess," he says, and aims for the stairs. It takes me a while to figure out that he is referring to the aftermath of his recent, and hopefully last, episode, when he artlessly trashed this living room. His heavy footing rattles the stairs alive.

"You're welcome," I tell him, my hands suddenly coming up to cross in front of me, feeling cold at how distant he feels. I shake myself off and push a little more determination into my guts. I call out to him as he takes on another step.

"Pebbles missed you a lot. She is with Delly right now, we can both pick her up later. The weather is really nice, we should go for a walk," I hear myself go off, without any brakes, breathless by the end of my sentence. "…And I missed you a whole lot more." I decide to stop there and wait as he turns around. He is in the middle of the flight of stairs looking back at me, one hand on the railing, small slit of eyes casting down on me. I curse at myself for not having a single romantic bone in my body.

"I missed you Katniss," he responds, giving me that damned half smile again, and continues stepping up and away until he disappears.

I briskly follow him, anxious and beginning to feel overwhelmed with hurt that I thought would dwindle upon reuniting with him.

I am not used to this. This is not the Peeta I know.

* * *

He is standing in front of his bathroom mirror, shirtless, and wearing his favourite black jeans. He is combing his hair back with his fingers, contemplating his beard and murmurs something about how much he is repelled by his looks. He begins to open drawers and cupboards under the sink, sticking his face in, and groans. He realizes he has looked into every corner of the drawers as he retreats, glancing at his own reflection one more time with dread. I am leaning on the doorway, tempted to prolong the disappearing blade act.

"Looking for this?" I ask him, twisting the razor in between my fingers. He is looking at me as if he is about to pounce at me. And I'm looking at the expanse of his bare chest.

"I have never been this relieved at seeing that razor in all my life," he tells me straight-faced.

I pull him to the bedroom and make him sit on his lounge chair by the door. I saunter back to the bathroom and fetch a bowl of water, a towel, and his container of shaving cream. By the time I return, he is grinning at me from ear to ear. I place the items down on the table near us.

"You hate this beard as much as I do, don't you," he asks, a realization slowly dawning upon him as I position myself over him and straddle his hips swiftly and snugly, reminding myself to behave, and I almost chuckle at seeing the streaks of surprise on his face. I have a little trouble tucking my legs between his and the wide arms of the chair, but I remain smooth. I'm looking down at him, and I could feel his muscles stiffen underneath me, frozen on contact, and he refuses to reach out and touch me.

And so I decide to grind into him just a little. An expression crosses his face and for a second it seemed like he stopped breathing.

"I don't hate it," I say, squirting shaving cream into my palm and spreading it languidly on the damp skin of his left jaw, his upper lip, and his chin. I pick up the razor blade and start running it slowly across his cheek. I reach for the towel and wipe the razor clean. I reposition the blade over his cheek and proceed with another swipe. "I think it makes you look mysterious," Something about the way the sound of small hairs being cut simultaneously tickles my ears. I watch after a rectangular piece of plastic leave smooth skin behind, as more shaving cream disappear and more of Peeta's face resurfaces.

"I don't know, Katniss, I look like a grizzly bear," he says. He seems to be entranced by something on my neck, or the inevitable cleavage this plunging neckline provides me, for all I know. I may or may not be shoving my breasts forward into his face and it may or may not be on purpose. His hand finally comes up and grips the curves of my waist and it sends electricity coming down from my neck.

"And a mysterious grizzly bear you are," I tell him, as the razor mows down another row of facial hair. I lean back and admire my shaving abilities, cleaning the razor with finality, for one last razor slide over a thin patch near his cheek bone.

The feel of his skin caressing my hips further distracts me, sending my pulse in disarray against my will, and also the speed of the razor blade rolling down his cheek, ultimately cutting into his flesh by accident. I gasp as he yelps and jolts backwards, away from my hand, and I am blurting out a number of apologies. My eyes land on the area where I cut him and blood has started gushing out, a slim trail rolling down his right cheek. Before I could react, he catches me off-guard as he grabs the wrist of my hand that was shaving him, and holds it still in mid air. He is staring at me intensely, as he slowly inches forward, his gaze dropping to my parted lips, all the reserve and reluctance in his eyes replaced by what I would like to decipher as lust. His lips linger over mine as his eyelashes brush against my cheek.

Something must have sparked in his head because he suddenly releases his grip over me and recoils backward so swiftly that I feel myself push back. I subconsciously rub my wrist at the pressure he left there. He swerves away from me and gathers himself together, swinging a leg sideways and standing up, leaving me on the lounge chair all agitated. He smells like mint and shampoo.

I emerge hastily and follow behind him, and this time, I ensure I invade all of his existing personal space.

"You told me you missed me. Prove it," I challenge him. His eyes are doing lazy loops all over me, and that is when my hand grows a brain of its own and starts to unbutton my cardigan. My white bra peeks at him and he steps forward, apprehensive, and instead of busying himself with unhooking it, he slowly lifts the fabric up and over my left shoulder. He holds his breath as he studies my scar, wordless, and I'm curious as to what he is thinking, because he is unresponsive, merely running his eyes over it.

He finally inches forward and lowers his lips to my bullet wound scar, hesitant at first, and very carefully plants a tender kiss. One of his hands slowly come up and hold the small of my back as he lingers over the blemish, the rest of his body inert from a distance. He seems petrified of me.

"Touch me, Peeta," I demand him. I squirm under his warm breath on my shoulder, and it's not enough. He moves away from my scar as he cups one side of my face and pulls me towards him, and before I am able to say another word of encouragement, his mouth is on mine. His lips and his tongue are insistent, and warm, and tantalizing, my lips parting in response to the pressure. He is kissing me with soft urgency, the pleasure making me dizzy.

His mouth now trails down my face, nipping and nibbling along my jaw line, and I shiver as he thrusts his hips into me, pressing his erection into my belly. He suddenly steps back to make space so he can reach out and take off my unbuttoned cardigan, my bra, and yanks at my pants in haste. He pauses to attend to himself and fumbles as he strips off his boxers and pants at the same time, and then moves to lift me up and place me on his bed. I lean back, perched on my elbows, looking up at his arousal, my hand coming up to fondle my breast. He watches me touch myself as his eyes darken right before he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and peels them off of me.

I crawl backwards to the middle of the bed as he crawls forward, poised over my legs, his attention fixed on my damp center. I part my legs and he begins to leave soft kisses on the inside of my thighs, moving up, working towards my heat, and my eyes shut as I whimper at the sensation it leaves behind. My eyes fly open and catch a glimpse of his tongue darting out quickly to lick his lips before his mouth claims my throbbing core, his tongue parting and swirling inside my folds, making smacking noises as he tastes my wetness. I have lost any ability to utter any words that make sense, as I try to peek over my breasts, and watch as his head moves below me, and glancing further down I catch his hand wrap around his erection and stroke himself furiously. I am hypnotized by it and at the same time, feel the need to protest, because that is where I would like to envelope my hands and my tongue around as well.

He plants his arms on either side and lowers his hips. His cock throbs and nudges against my entrance and he slips into me, and he begins to move in deeper, filling me with his thick length.

"Kat-," he moans into my ear, and I answer with a noise that is a cross between a groan and a cry.

I wrap my legs around his waist, tipping my hips up so he can push deeper. He feels the shift and pumps faster, grunting as his thrusts slide me back against the mattress. He is pounding into me intensely, and I meet his rhythm with increasing, fiery pulse and I feel myself coming hard and it doesn't stop, my body shaking with tremors as he stares at me in the eyes, slamming into me wildly. I feel him swell against my walls and his hips stop rocking, emptying into me with a warm rush, his head dropping and resting on my neck, murmuring my name.

My hand brushes through his blonde hair, holding him close to me, as we try to regain our breaths in unison, and wait to come down from our high.

* * *

I keep a precise monitor on Peeta in the following days, and at the same time, give him space to carry on his normal routine and contemplate on his own.

I hear his footsteps as he is getting ready upstairs, and I am waiting for him in his living room trying to discipline Pebbles from biting at her leash. I tell her to sit and she follows my command as she keeps an eye on the stair steps. I drop her leash and leave her by the coffee table, and I walk into his kitchen. I spot half eaten meat pies with mushrooms he baked yesterday, sitting on the counter. I don't think he is eating well, but this looks like a good start. My eyes flick over to the pile of notes and torn papers on the other end of the counter, my feet automatically taking me there.

There is a huge phone directory book, addresses, random names of doctors scribbled, and small crumpled pieces of papers. There are magazines on mental health and recovery, specifically published from the Capitol. He has notes with written "Call back", "Contact tomorrow", and words that have been scratched off and I can't make out. A familiar name catches my attention on one of the notes with a long distance phone number on it scribbled below. Doctor Aurelius.

I feel like I'm prying, so I turn on my heels as soon as I hear him coming down the stairs and greeting Pebbles. I appear from the side and embrace him as he drops me a kiss on the forehead, and asks me if I'm ready to go on our stroll. He picks up Pebbles' leash and lets me through the door first.

I lavish in the smell of spring time as we walk under a baby blue sky and animated clouds. The ground is slightly wet from the drizzle of rain earlier, and I spot little buds of dandelions peeking from the grass. Peeta is manning Pebbles' leash as we walk through the streets of Twelve, has his arm slung across my shoulder, trying not to put weight on it. I am leaning over him, also keeping an arm around his waist, frequently looking up to flash him a smile as I listen to him talk about the weather, the transition of seasons, and the meat pie he tried making for the first time.

He has only reopened the bakery once since his return, and the operating hours lasted for merely three hours due to low supply of baked goods. People from across the street spot us and give us smiles as Peeta and I enjoy our walk with my dog, and I'm not sure if they are the genuine kind of smile or not, but I don't care.

We reach the willow tree and Peeta ties the leash into a low, broken branch. I pet Pebbles on the head before I proceed to climb up the tree, careful not to strain my shoulder, and Peeta staying behind to support me. I struggle as I lift myself up with my left arm, so I try to allocate all the weight pushing to my legs. I locate my favourite spot on a branch as I reach the top, waiting patiently for Peeta as he grunts his way up.

The water in the river looks cold, there is a thin layer of smoke just above the surface.

Peeta inches closer to me, ridding of the small remaining space between us, snaking an arm around my waist. We let our feet kick freely in the air.

"It must have been terrifying, realizing you're on the doors of death, wondering how to keep alive," he tells me, his chin disappearing into his jacket collar. "I feel awful about everything."

I sigh inwardly and hold his hand. "Peeta, it wasn't you who triggered the gun. If anything, you were able to fight it back, that's why my shoulder was hit instead of my heart." He is looking at me, a bit surprised.

"It was the first time I was actually aware of what was happening around me, Katniss. I watched my hands move and point the gun," he tells me with controlled exasperation. "It was something I've never experience before, and I tried to will myself to veer it off to the side and away from you until I heard the gun go off." His gaze switches to the river below us and it stays there.

"There is still a little bit of Capitol's evil left," I sadly admit. He nods and takes a deep breath.

"I've been doing research on facilities that can help me fully recover from the remnants of the chemical that activates certain targeted cells to go haywire. And I found it, I found the one," he pauses, his eyes locking again with mine, and he hesitates a little bit before he continues, "It's in District Four."

"Four?" I repeat to him.

"Yeah, Doctor Aurelius has branched off from the Capitol and has opened an establishment there, along with another hospital your mother is currently employed in," he says, sounding excited at the facility's potential. "It has high technology equipment that is not available anywhere else! Not even the Capitol." He whips out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it, showing me a photocopy of information on the innovative faculties of Aurelius Tech Inc.

"How long will you be submitted in for?" I ask selfishly, and when he tells me it could be from six months to a year, my heart drops a little.

He tilts my chin with his fingertips so I can look him in the eye.

"I need this Katniss. I need a solid guarantee that I will never hurt you again. I don't know what I would do with myself the next time something like that happens."

I tell him I understand and weakly nod at him, and lean over to nestle into his chest. I cling to him with both arms as he buries his lips into my hair, reminiscent of the dance he invited me to just underneath this same tree during one summer night.

* * *

Six in the morning finds me on the open platform of the train station. It is a bit cool, and I hug Pebbles closer to me as a gush of cool spring wind blows in between the parked train cars. Peeta is wearing the new scarf I gave him, and I made sure he packed the blanket I have slaved over and knitted for him in his large duffel bag with the rest of his clothes. He stands on the edge of the platform, his back on the train door, hunched over Pebbles as he coos over her. She sticks her tongue out and licks the tip of his nose.

He moves away from Pebbles and brings a hand up to graze my cheek before he leans in on me for a long, gentle kiss. He plucks his lips off of mine and I already miss him.

"Don't forget to keep in touch. I hope you recover well, Peeta."

"You'll wait for me?" he asks, picking up his duffel bag on the floor. He already knows the answer, but right now he wants security, he wants to hear it, and I dare not deprive him.

"Always. Only for you."

He takes a foot off the platform and up on the train, poised to leave me. He turns to look at me over his shoulder and lets his eyes dance with mine for the last time. "I love you Katniss." The train starts to grumble and rev, a message booming across the station notifying that the 6:10 AM Train to District Four is leaving on time and that the doors are closing.

He scampers to get through the door to the inside of the train that is now gradually closing in on him, and keeps his eyes on me as he grabs the nearest pole to keep himself from tumbling back and upright.

My heart starts to beat faster as the door continues to shut and makes Peeta completely disappear, keeping him away from me, taking him somewhere far away.

"I love you..." I try to yell out after the train, my legs on a mission to run after it, but the engine is in full swing and roaring out of the train station and into wide open space. I stand on the end corner of the platform and look over as the train decreases in size to a small dot on the horizon. The sun rises, diffusing orange and rose tint amongst the line of clouds overhead. And I am left behind with a pile of things I've been meaning to tell Peeta, and a kind of heaviness on my chest I am trying to ignore.


	9. Chapter 9: Dear Katniss

I spread the remains of a doe across the wooden counter of a booth in the Hob, showcasing the fine, arrowhead wound in the middle of its eyes. I reach inside my game sack and pull out two rabbits, three tree lizards, and a squirrel. It was a good day in the woods today.

I glance up at the booth vendor and she is grinning at me like I have offered her gold. I fidget as she remains speechless at my sight, and I clear my throat. I am growing impatient and my eyes dart up, observing the flickering light bulb hanging over her head, and when I look back down, she is still grinning at me.

"I know you. You're the Mockingjay!" she says, her grin starting to irritate me. "Oh my goodness, Katniss Everdeen is right in here." She's trying to get everyone's attention but they're milling about, minding their own affairs. She tilts her head back towards me.

"Peeta...You and Peeta have gone through it all! You led the revolution of this country!," she sounds like a game show host, and is starting to remind me of Effie a lot. I can only handle one Effie in my lifetime. She suddenly clamps her mouth with her hands. "Are you two still together?," she asks through her interlaced fingers.

I force myself to smile and nod. I don't feel like socializing over dead animals right now, neither basking in my old glory nor squealing over love. And everybody here knows not to call me the Mockingjay anymore. It's a rule I have implemented years ago, back when I was roughly in my mid twenties, when I decided I have had enough with the label and I wanted to move on from being associated with the war. Other citizens from other districts had taken part and stepped up to resurrect Panem too. I was not the only star of the bloodshed.

I see a bony, wrinkly hand come from the side and push the attendant out of my view without much gusto, an exasperated Greasy Sae slowly shaking her head, and takes over. "Go on, get out of here and count all the change again, Lana, you're off by a couple of dollars," she tells the starstruck girl and she waves her hand goodbye to me. Greasy Sae is very old now, slower and significantly shorter in height, and insists that her heart will always belong to the Hob. She continues.

"She's new around here. Flew in from the Capitol a week ago, engaged to one of the locals who works here," she studies all the game scattered across the table below her and starts to reach for a huge wad of money from the front pocket of her animal blood-stained apron. "Sweet story. Gave me toothache. What's a better love than young love." She flips the bills, counting them at a leisurely pace, and hands them to me. A smile of approval crosses my face. This is really good money.

"Greasy Sae, how do you manage to stay young forever?" I ask her, feeling the lightest I've felt all day. She pulls out a wheel barrow from under the counter and starts to transfer over my trades.

"Must be all the squirrels in my diet. Crazy little critters..." she huffs and disappears into the back, pushing the wheel barrow along, and complaining about the new hire. Lana reappears, looking delighted to see Greasy Sae again, and takes over with moving the game.

It is a bit before 7 PM by the time I step out of the Hob. This was the second time today I traded valiantly, relentless in my pursuance of money. I am excited over a bank finally being built somewhere across Peeta's bakery, but for now I need to buy a bigger safe for my money, the ones with fancy locks.

I whistle as I pass by different stores in the town square, an extra bounce evident in my steps, my wallet feeling fat and confident. There is a retail stand selling men clothing that I've always wanted to look at, so I bounce towards it, and spot a nice, dark blue dress shirt for Peeta. I think blue definitely brings out his blonde quite well. And for the very first time, I don't ask the store attendant the price of an item.

I float across the street, not caring about a rush of people colliding their shoulders into mine, finding myself magnetized by a magazine stand. There is a new issue of that sports magazine Peeta reads religiously. It actually features a football player from our district on the front cover this time. I wince at the picture, trying to recognize him, but I can't. I bet Peeta knows him. I pull a copy off the rack and give the vendor a five dollar bill and neglect my change.

I move along and duck into the indoor market next and beam at the products Peeta would normally purchase for his baking. There's semi-sweet chocolate bars, flour, candy sprinkles, cupcake liners, and a brand new type of piping tube I don't think Peeta owns yet. I ponder, trying to recall if any of his stocks need refreshing. After a short consideration, I end up buying everything, leaving the store with two bags of groceries with a foolish, and an abnormally friendly grin on my face. This is where I put a limit to shopping for today.

There is still a little bit of light left from the sun, and I am walking by Peeta's bakery, avoiding all the construction on the other side of the street. I sigh as I sweep my eyes across. All the lights are off, and I have barricaded the windows shut with plywood from the inside since he won't be coming back in a while, to prevent imminent robbers that know about this bakery's inactivity. I glance down at my maple tree as I approach the door, trying to wrestle with my bag as I fetch the main key.

As soon as I swing the door open I am welcomed by a whiff of mixture of things that I never knew would mean so much to me. The wheels of my mind turn by themselves, digging up sweet, old memories that are tied down to these scents. It almost tickles, the way the hardwood floor smells. The furnitures. The brick oven that always smells burnt somehow despite Peeta's cleaning labour over it. Confetti candy. Flower candy. Muffins. Cinnamon. Strawberry loaves. Little baskets of strawberries. Cheese buns. Block of cheese. Icing. Chocolate. Bread.

I begin to subconsciously look for him, expecting him to appear from behind the oven, maybe wiping his hands on his apron. I slump and close the door behind me.

I feel something creep up in my eyes and I blink them away, angry at myself. No, I am not going to cry, I am not to be reduced to tears because of the smell of bread. I am stronger than this. I march to the counter behind the cash register and drop my grocery items. I line them up and admire them. Peeta will be pleased at this, that I have taken initiative to keep the shelves full. I begin to open the bottom drawer and pull a medium sized bag of flour and put it on the counter. It is half empty, and I take a mental note to purchase a whole sack tomorrow. I open a top drawer and spot the rest of the candy, and the ingredients that he uses to make it. They also find a spot on the counter.

Peeta has always hinted I should learn how to bake, and all I did was ignore him, in total disregard. Like I didn't care. He started hinting at it after he got tired of hinting to have children together. It was just lately when the talks about children have stirred up again. I can't really blame him. We are not getting any younger. I have never perceived Peeta as overly demanding, but when he actually does ask me of something, it always seems to be too much, too overwhelming. And now, it feels like I'm failing him all over and over.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can bake a loaf of bread for starters. Then maybe I can re-open this bakery while he's gone. Nothing is more basic than bread.

I am trying to sniff back a single, silent tear but it ends up rolling down my cheek.

I should do this. I should bake. What kind of a significant other would I be if I didn't support him? If I didn't tend to his needs and requests? Peeta never fails to please me. He hasn't failed me at all. I can do this. I whip my head aside, thinking it would prevent the second teardrop from threatening to gush out of my other eye.

The chalkboard hanging on the wall by the window catches my attention. I approach it, attracted by his writing.

**_Check if there is still yeast_  
**

Yeast. Of course yeast! How could I have forgotten? I will check if there is any left.

I am clawing at cupboard handles and drawer knobs, opening and slamming them close, in search of yeast. Yes, I can't bake without yeast. It is needed so that the bread could rise. He told me this once, when he was mopping this same floor clean one night and I was frowning at my pathetic attempt to a cheese bun.

"Where is that damn yeast," I ask no one in particular out loud, borderline delirious.

I grunt out of frustration as I kneel down and frantically open the bottom drawer and send muffin tins, cake trays, a colander, and various shaped cutters out of drawers and sliding across the floor, the simultaneous clattering noises alarming even myself. "Need yeast..." I am grumbling, and livid, and suddenly very exhausted. My hand comes up to my face and realize that I am crying, wiping my sleeve on my chin. My knees become glued to the floor, and instead of standing up, I fold and sit down, my back resting against a metallic pie rack, feeling defeated.

My sobs die down. "I'm sorry Peeta," I whisper quietly, for failing to find yeast, and for all the times I took him for granted.

* * *

Eight days. It has been eight days since he has left for Four. I knock reminders into myself once in a while to keep a positive attitude about his absence so I won't miss him so much, and because he will return to me one day. But I find it difficult, because I've built my life around him and he plays a huge part in it, that there is a gaping hole now, and I can't help but skirt around it until I'm emotionally drained.

It's been real quiet on the weekends because no one is lounging on my couch watching movies on TV. And I think Pebbles senses he's away again, because I catch her sitting in front of the door when afternoon comes, waiting for the clanking of the doorknob, and lately she has been approaching me with her squeaky toy duck, drops it in front of me and just lays down on the floor.

Today my students gathered around my desk after the bell, and gave me hugs after handing me a white, single stem tulip. They have noticed that Peeta stopped visiting the class to pick me up, and they tell me they miss teasing him by the doorway. I couldn't explain prison to them for now, and I'm sure they have overheard their parents or other adults gossip about the shooting incident. I have heard numerous versions of what supposedly has transpired, but the juiciest one has got to be the rumour of that one visit to the district that Gale made a while ago, that resulted to Peeta's jealous rage. Although I can't see how people piece that back to the fact that the shooting took place in a cemetery.

I walk home from school with my stem of tulip, surrounded by promises of spring, as dandelions bloom and burst in bright yellow, and the smell of freshly cut grass and wet earth renew my senses. I notice the mailbox flap is open and I see mail stashed inside. I reach in and pull out water bill, electricity bill, a town square event flyer, and letter from a Peeta Mellark, with a return address to 655 Backbarrier Avenue, District 4.

* * *

_May 25_

_Dear Katniss,_

_How are you and Pebbles? I hope this letter finds you well. I have settled in nicely in the residency Doctor Aurelius provides during treatment. The facility is massive, it takes up a whole block! It has a library full of neat books, a media room with a really, really big TV, you are not going to believe the size of it, and a garden in the west wing with small fountains and benches where I can sit while I paint. I was able to meet with doctor right away, and he put me through my first assessment. He is very baffled by my latest episode, and he is determined to figure out what had triggered it. _

_Everybody here is nice, it's easy to get comfortable in and feel at home. Although, I miss ours._

_Peeta._

* * *

_June 9_

_Dear Katniss,_

_Today I was subjected to a memory test and I had to wear a device over my head. I must've passed out because when I opened my eyes again, five minutes disappeared. We were given plenty of activities, from writing to drawing, and answering multiple questions. For some reason I had large strokes of black paint all over my paper. It was quite alarming. Doctor Aurelius gave me four days worth of pills to take until my next test._

_I was talking to another patient in the middle of the hall yesterday, and I actually saw your mom with a group of other doctors and she just glanced at me and walked past me. She probably hates me. I'll try to catch her again next time and maybe we can have a proper conversation._

_Peeta._

* * *

_July 11_

_Dear Katniss,_

_I just underwent a long, painful test. I was lying down in probably the most sterile room in the facility, and it took the whole morning. So glad it's over. I have a headache, it's the worst headache I have ever had. I can feel my nerves throb. I think I'm confining myself in my room for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the week, I don't know. I was planning on finishing my painting today in the garden, the weather has been excellent complete with sunshine and everything, but I don't think I can even handle a paintbrush. _

_It's so cold, but it's ok because I have a blanket :) I wish you were here to take care of me. _

_Peeta._

* * *

_August 20_

_Dear Katniss,_

_I miss the way you curl into my arms when I pull you in. I miss how you scowl at me when I tickle your kneecaps, but I don't miss how hard you pinch the fat on my sides when you retaliate. I miss how your head randomly pops out of nowhere in the most awkward angles before you ask me for a kiss. I miss how your bread never seems to rise when you defy my baking instructions. And I miss how hard you laugh at it. I miss how you try and look interested when I talk about football, but you listen anyway. I know you can't even understand the sport. I miss how you wrinkle your nose at me when we fight, and you don't even know you're doing it. Then you tell me to go away, but you're always the first to make up with me._

_I miss how you cling and wrap your arms around mine when we walk together. It's like saying that I am yours and you are mine._

_Peeta_

* * *

_September 19_

_Dear Katniss,_

_Doctor Aurelius set up another appointment today and reviewed my condition. He is very happy with my progress and how well my results have been coming back. He has one final test lined up for me, that will ensure I have zero percentage of dormant venom hiding in cells that are unlikely to house them in the first place. He won't release me this time until he is completely confident. I take comfort in that._

_Do you remember Annie Odair? I was perusing in the town square and she bumped into me. Literally. She was chasing her son around, I think he grabbed an apple from a vendor and took off. He looks a lot like Finnick. I was able to play with him, the kid is very smart. And he'll probably break alot of hearts in the future, just like his dad._

_It's getting chilly again. Stay warm._

_Peeta._

* * *

_October 12 _

_Dear Katniss,_

_You have no idea how nervous I was when I was finally able to talk to your mother. She didn't have the same hostile look when we first met. I apologized about what happened to us, to you, and told her that I'm here in Four to get one final treatment so we both can have peace of mind. It took a while, but I think she has softened up to me. I told her I am in love with you and I can't let anything come between and ruin what we have._

_Doctor Aurelius signed my release form this afternoon. I'm coming back home. _

___I finished my painting, and I'm sending it to you with this letter. It's a willow tree I found in the far end of the garden, but it's way smaller than the one in our district. It reminded me of you._

* * *

___October 14_

___Dear Peeta,_

___Everything reminds me of you._

___I'll see you again._

___Love, Katniss_

* * *

**A/N: Ok so I am finally down with something. Could be the change in weather, or all the virus in this office. I finally gave in and I am sick :\ So what do you get when you have _Delirious!Author?_ you get _Delirious!Katniss_ in the bakery. **

**I realized I do not like _Absent!Peeta_ so I find myself compacting the story and cutting the in-between fillers shorter than I had originally planned. I hope you don't mind. I like being able to play around with his character.**


	10. Chapter 10: Autumn Repose

I am starting to worry that the structure of my umbrella would snap and catapult into my eye as heavy, torrential rain blasts down angrily from the heavens. I am surrounded by a throng of inconsiderate commuters as they bustle their way through across the wet and wooden platform, hopping in and out of trains, opening and banging their umbrellas into my face. Peeta happens to choose to arrive in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon rush hour.

I am also starting to worry because he is supposed to arrive here in the station twenty minutes ago, and I'm not sure if his train has arrived at all. There is too much bodily activity on this platform, and some trips are delayed because of the rain storm.

My umbrella rattles above me as I am suddenly pushed forward, and I swing my head irately at the running person behind me trying to get through. This place is mad. I look up again, over the arches of a colourful array of umbrellas that are knocking into each other and look happy despite the blanket of colourless sky. He has to be here by now.

Where in the world is Peeta. Two more minutes have passed. That makes it twenty-two minutes.

My head perks up as a flash of blonde hair catches my eye and disappear again into a sea of moving umbrellas. I muscle my way through the crowd, determined to spot the elusive blonde again. The bitter winds are knocking my umbrella back and inside out, but I hold on to it tight and tilt the umbrella against it. My heart is beating faster as my eyes work extra hard, disappointed as the number of commuter decreases and the area clears a little, and still no sign of Peeta.

My anxiety grows as I fret and pace around, my neck starting to hurt from my head rotating restlessly, desperate and excited to finally see him. I approach one of the ticket booths and sit on the bench beside it, wiping at the rain on my cheek. I feel clammy and uncomfortable, shivering from the slight chill in the air.

A new set of commuters stampede through the station and I let out another sigh, checking if the structure inside the umbrella is still capable of holding itself. As I swing the umbrella back up over my head again, that's when I spot him, standing in the middle of the open platform under the heavy rain, the duffel bag perched over his shoulder and his free hand resting on top of his head, holding back the hair that usually falls over his forehead. He looks confused and slightly distressed through all the raging water, and when he finally sees me emerging from the bench staring back at him, his face completely brightens from a smile.

I'm up and making a mad dash across the platform, my shoulders crashing into other shoulders, not caring if all the impact is causing me pain on my left. An even stronger gust of wind slightly pushes me aside and surprises me, detaching the umbrella off of my grip as it hurls gracelessly into air, and I don't bother to look back where it lands, because he's right in front of me and my legs are not planning to delay our reunion any further.

He drops his bag and we collide into each other, wet skin and wet clothes, as he encircles his arms around my waist and lifts me off the ground, chuckling as he takes a couple of steps back. I wrap my arms around his neck and look down on him, my mouth starting to hurt from smiling, rain trickling down the tip of my nose and dropping onto his. He slowly lowers me back down until I feel the ground beneath my feet, grabs the back of my neck, and pulls me close as he lets his lips, soft and wet from the rain, crush hungrily against mine.

* * *

The duffel bag sits in the middle of the dining table and Peeta is poised over it, unpacking ceremoniously. We are now both dry, waiting for our mugs of hot chocolate to cool down. I am sitting on a chair looking on eagerly as he grabs items from the bag one by one and recites them to me, with Pebbles sleeping soundly in my lap. She was very excited at seeing Peeta again and has depleted all her energy from jumping and rolling all over the floor too much.

"You remember this one, this is seaweed bread," he tells me, making sure I see it as he carefully places the green-tinted bread peeking out of its paper bag. I smile because of the concentration on his face and not because of the old, buried memories attached to it.

"This…," he drops something solid covered in old newspaper in front of me, "This is dried fish. Specialty item." I crinkle my nose at the faint smell that is attempting to seep through.

"And this," he pulls out a plastic container with something green, weird and flat inside. "...is dried seaweed." I pick it up and study it, then tear the plastic open. I pick a flat piece and wave it, as if trying to weigh it.

"It's like paper, but green, with salt. How are you supposed to eat this?" I ask incredulously. He doesn't respond but he grabs it from my hand and shoves it into his mouth. He proceeds to grab paintbrushes and tubes of paint, and a binder full of papers and places them on the table as well, the bag now only filled with his clothes in the bottom. He saunters around the dining table and takes a seat on the chair beside me, casually chewing on more dried seaweed.

My attention flies to the binder and I reach out to open it, revealing all of Peeta's documents, from submission to release forms, exercise sheets and most importantly, the test results. I suddenly find myself engulfed by it, reading Doctor Aurelius' notes in red ink. My eyes skim through Peeta's answers as well, in his careless cursive, trying to spot red flags. And there are, marked by small asterisks by the doctor. I put the papers down and I can see Peeta from my side-vision watching me with fixed eyes.

"Want to laminate it?" he asks and smiles. I decide to ride along his light mood and quickly flip through the pages again.

"If there is anything I would want to laminate...," I say as a matter of fact, showing him one of the exercise sheets he has made plenty of doodles and random sketches on. "...it would be this one." I point on the upper right hand corner of the paper, with Doctor Aurelius' infamous red marker encircling something Peeta wrote.

NAME: P. Mellark

DATE: no but thank you for asking.

I'm aloof, my eyes slowly rolling towards Peeta whose smile is disappearing into a thin line and face now set in stone.

"I was bored."

* * *

I drop the used teabag in the sink and grab a small spoon from the drawer, swirling it inside the mug as I lean over and appreciate the steam coming off from my jasmine tea. I walk past the island counter and pick up a plate full of cookies and cheese buns, heading for my living room, my show is starting in about ten minutes. I sigh collectively as my back touches and rests against the couch, and crack some bones on my neck out of bad habit. I place the mug and the plate on the coffee table and reach back to tie my hair in a messy ponytail, lifting my legs off the floor to tuck them underneath me.

This is so heavenly and relaxing.

The rain is still beating down against my window, a sound I have grown to love. The storm has not stopped since Peeta's return yesterday. I wouldn't be surprised if it starts flooding any time soon. The sudden loud and panicked knocking on my door distracts me from my rainy thoughts and I spring off the couch, almost stumbling over my own legs.

I launch the door open in haste, taken aback as Peeta lunges forward and almost crashes into me, soaked from the rain even though it should just take about ten steps to reach my front door. My hand flies to his chest to support and hold him upright, but he's shaking terribly, and murmuring something I can't fully understand.

"Peeta-" My arms are around him now, trying to keep him from falling flat on the floor, and I realize I can't hold all his body weight anymore as he leans into me further. I lead him to the couch and make him lay down, taking off his shoes and grabbing the throw blanket draped on my lounge chair.

"It's so cold Katniss..." he finally says clearly as I move my ear near his mouth when I notice he's trying to tell me something. He is trembling out of control. I touch his forehead and I'm alarmed at how abnormally hot his skin feels under my hand. He is burning up. "I feel like hell."

"Oh Peeta, don't tell me you're sick from all the seaweed that you ate..." I say to him as a half joke. I run to my closet upstairs where Peeta Belongings are exclusively harboured and grab a shirt, underwear, sweater and cotton pants. I also pick up a small towel, a bowl of hot water, and medicinal ointment. I struggle as I strip him naked on the couch and discard all his wet clothing, and I ruffle his hair dry before I guide him into his dry clothes.

I hope he's sick because of the weather and all the rain he has suffered under, and not because of the aftermaths of Doctor Aurelius' numerous tests he was exposed to.

I dip the towel in hot water and avoid squeezing it completely dry. I roll it and place it gingerly on his forehead, noticing his wild flinching has subsided. I open the ointment and place it under his nose, and tell him to breathe in. Then I pull the blanket up to his chin and wait until his breaths stabilize. He manages to say "Thank you" before I disappear into the kitchen.

I tread back into the living room minutes later, offering him a bowl of hot, cream of broccoli soup. He looks calmer, watching me with wistful eyes as I approach him with a smile. I insert more pillows behind his head and his back so he could somehow sit up, and I bring a spoonful of the soup in mid-air, trying to entice him with it. He looks down on it hesitantly.

"That soup is green," he declares.

"Yes, but it's not seaweed. It's broccoli, it's good for you," I say, almost like talking to a child. He peers down on it again, and he's not trying to hide the repulsion on his face.

"Why is this reminding me so much of something else bad that happened a long, long time ago..." he trails off, his eyes landing on a spot behind my head. His gaze focuses back on me and he continues, suddenly brightening up at a distant thought. "Actually no, no it wasn't a bad memory at all." He flashes me a knowing smile, bewildered.

"Just eat the soup, Peeta," I say somewhat patiently and blow into the spoon to cool some steam off. I'm also making him a drink consisting of hot water, lemon juice and ginger. I have already placed a kettle full of water and crank the stove on maximum heat so it can boil faster.

After what painfully seemed like forever, he accommodates. I make faces at him, as signs of approval, as he lets me feed him. We finish the bowl and I land him a kiss on his cheek as a reward. He sighs as he positions himself on a more comfortable angle on the couch.

"I don't think you should come any closer, Katniss, you might get sick too," he tells me as he sniffs, his eyelids drooping, tucking his chin underneath the blanket. I could hear the kettle whistle full blast in the kitchen.

"It's ok, I like taking care of you," I flash him a smile as I begin to gather myself up so I could attend to the boiling water.

"Are you sure?" he asks, stopping me on my tracks. I whip around and look down on him, nodding. "Alright then..." I could hear him murmur as he suddenly reaches out and grabs me by the waist, blanket flying about, trying to yank me down to his eye level and I see his lips, comically puckered up begging to be kissed.

"Peeta!" I shriek at him and laugh as his grasp over me tightens and refuses to let me go. My legs flail as high as my arms. "The water is going to boil over!" My eyebrows are trying to furrow at him but all I see are his lips pointed up towards mine, pouting in an attempt to kiss me, but instead makes out with thin air. My head swings back, avoiding him, as more laughter rack through my body.

I am finally able to wriggle out of his arms and his insistent lips and threaten him with more soup as I leave and head for the kitchen. Some hot water have spilled out of the kettle but I'll leave the wiping for another time after I make him the drink. I squeeze the juice out of the lemon and peel and cut a small piece of ginger, then smash it on the cutting board before I dump them all in the huge mug of hot water. I stir the warm concoction and smile, hoping that Peeta would like it. This should make him feel better too.

I turn on my heels and walk into the living room, and I see that Peeta has fallen soundly asleep, a huge chunk of the blanket hanging off the couch, and he's snoring away gallantly. I place the mug on the coffee table and kneel on the floor by his side, and grab another towel to wipe a small drool on the corner of his lips. My eyes sweep over his peaceful face and I poke the tip of my nose in and lightly rub it against his cheek, taking in his natural scent.

The rain still has not let up, but I take comfort in its continuum.

* * *

Peeta is feeling way better now. I know so. I can tell. I ensured he is well enough to stand on his own two feet so he could walk back to his house. And so he did, under perfect, healthy condition. I also ensured he made it through the door, and that is why I followed him, and that is why I am here in his bedroom, in his bed.

And he is laying flat on his back, breathless and naked underneath me, one hand stroking the taut nipple of my breast and the other on the curve of my ass, urging me to go faster, as I bounce up and down into his hot, rigid cock. He gathers a bunch of my hair and pulls it down towards him, my head dropping in closer as our mouths collide over a clumsy, sloppy kiss. I sit back upright and groan at the feel of his erection impaling me from underneath as he buckles and thrusts upwards to meet my rhythm, my juices making his cock sleek and my folds easy to slide in through. I lift my ass up high and almost completely off of his erection, and pause until I slam back down into him as his throbbing girth expands me even further and deeper. He is inconceivably deep inside me. I whimper and cry at the contact, hurting me in the most exquisite way, my back arching at the sharp pang of pleasure. I stare him down and make him look at me, but he looks like he is about to pass out. He looks wonderful. My breasts spring up and down and spill all over his frantic hands as he pushes his head back into the pillow and grunts loud and rough, his hands now grabbing my hips tight and secure as I feel him twitch and spill inside of me.

I mount off of him slowly as we both pant, chests heaving hard, and I drop into the empty space beside him. He moves and gets up off the bed and drags his feet across to the bathroom.

It is really late into the night, but I remind myself that my first class starting tomorrow begins an hour later for this upcoming semester. I kick my rumpled clothes off the bed and turn so I could lay on my side, facing the edge of the bed. Peeta returns and I could feel him shift behind me, and the softness of the blanket as he places it over us, followed by his arm snaking around my waist. He pulls me closer as he rests his chin on my shoulder and nuzzles his nose into the area behind my ear.

It looks like I am sleeping well again tonight.

* * *

A sliver of white light is trying to push through into my eyes as I stretch languidly, yawning as my hand flies up and scratches it. I am finally able to flutter my eyes open and I almost jerk back out of alarm because all I see is one of Peeta's eyes slowly blinking at me from behind a mountain of messy blanket.

"You're here," he says as his voice croaks, not sure if it is a statement or a question. The sun is out, casting odd shapes on his bedroom walls. I smile at the mild disbelief on his face.

"I thought you wouldn't mind," I tell him, looking sheepish.

"No, not at all," he grins and shuts his eyes from the crawling sunlight that is now illuminating his face. I slightly rise up, and perch myself over an elbow, my hair cascading down and covering one of my breasts.

I pause and take in a deep breath. "Then you also wouldn't mind if I move in with you?" I ask him. I now have his full attention as his head shoots up and turns to look at me. His smile has widened and his eyes are an impossible shade of blue against the sun as a backdrop.

"I don't think I'd mind that either," he says, as he inches towards me and my head finds a place to rest on his chest.

"It would be good. I can look after you better," I suggest, my fingers making patterns on his stomach. "You know, you turn into a really big baby when you're sick."

"You know, you make really good wild mushroom soup, even better than broccoli soup or anything with broccoli in it."

I catch him off guard and pinch his sides, and I know he hates it because he's howling at me, but I'm sure he never minds.

* * *

The autumn skies overhead warn us of another onslaught of rain. It is a bleak Saturday, and I have boxes of clothes lined up in my living room waiting to be carried out. So far he has transported, after a careful round of consideration, my box of fine dish set, small appliances, and Pebbles' items. Before all that, Peeta, standing strong at twenty-nine going into thirty, effortlessly carried the TV out of my house first. He has a plan of putting it in our bedroom, much to my chagrin. All my toiletries are also packed in a medium-sized box, now sitting on his porch.

I decide to leave the big furnitures and perhaps sell them later, and some that will not be making it to Peeta's place I'm donating straight to the Hob. As soon as the first raindrops touch our heads we duck under the awning stretched over the front porch, careful not to kick any boxes around.

Peeta plops down on my lounge chair poised by the door, and I look for a big, sturdy moving box to sit on, as rain gradually falls around us. Something catches his attention in one of the open boxes and starts to pick on my random items. He pulls out one of my fancy underwear, the little black number with thin white laces. He shoots me a quick smirk before puts it back in the box and continues to dig. He picks out a small, expensive bottle of perfume, the one he gave me three Valentines ago. He goes through many more frilly underwear, exclaiming how sexy they are, then proceeds to wink at me. Lastly he pulls out a black suede jewelry box. A look of confusion crosses his face as it slightly sours.

"Did someone else propose to you when I was gone?" he asks, deadpan. My eyebrow raises at him and I shake my head, my hand gripping the side of the box to balance me. He steals a sidelong glance at me before he slowly opens the small box. Nestled in the middle of the soft fabric is the pearl he gave me as a gift when we were on the beach during the quarter quell. He freezes at the sight, and I hear him faintly say "Oh" before he realizes it has escaped his lips. I don't think he has seen the pearl in years.

"You carried a smooth demeanor but I could tell you were a bit nervous," I tell him. He looks up at me as a remote lightning rips through the sky behind him. "Do you still remember the moment you gave it to me?" I ask, as I stand up and tread slowly towards him.

He stares back down at the pearl, serious and pensive, then suddenly lets out a short laugh. "I wanted to give you a kiss as well."

"So did I."


	11. Chapter 11: One

I find things with a touch of familiarity, but different. My lounge chair has found a spot by the fire place, placed right across Peeta's. My wall clock is hanging in the kitchen beside the window. We use my dish set during dinners. One of the guest rooms he renovated and arranged to be my office where I can write my lesson plans and mark tests in peace. He doesn't like that I scatter my books and disorganized papers all over his coffee table in the living room, and he does not understand how I manage to do my work while watching TV, surrounded by constant noise. So now my nice little office is situated beside his art room. Pebbles has her toys strewn in the hallway, and we didn't mind for a long time. Not until a mid-sized bouncy ball sent me gliding gracelessly in the dark and I brushed too close to what would have been my next major injury after the gun shot. Peeta prepares and packs me lunch every morning because he is awake even earlier than I am everyday. It is usually after he ensures he has all items and ingredients for the day's production and compacts them into a bag before he sets off to the bakery.

What's different is the renewed sense of euphoria of randomly waking up next to him in the unholy hours of dawn, in a tangled mess of limbs and legs, giving me a fleeting sense of joy that does not really go away. And sometimes he rattles me from slumber, after his alarm goes off at five forty-five and he drags me close to him like I weigh nothing, and peppers me with the lightest kisses wherever he could plant it on my face before he groans his way off the bed.

* * *

Beads of sweat are starting to frame my forehead as I glare down at the piece of plastic I'm wringing in my hand, as if waiting for it to come alive. I start to shake it, flip it, and shake it again in hopes that the device would indicate something else to me, just in case it changes its mind, but the small, greenish screen does not change. There is still one tiny red line telling me that I am not pregnant.

I curse inwardly at my disappointment, glancing one more time and wincing at the wretched line, waiting for another one to appear. I have stopped taking birth control pills almost over a year ago. I know how to maintain myself; I eat well, and I'm physically fit. A slow thought creeps in and I wonder if there is anything wrong with me. My hand rests on the rim of the sink as I conduct another round of staring contest with the pregnancy test, sighing out loud as I close my eyes, and I could almost hear the silence hissing at me.

And somewhere in between the deafly stillness and my running thoughts and confusion about babies and the reproductive system, Peeta starts rapping at the door with slight urgency.

I jolt back and gasp, the plastic slipping through my fingers as I scurry to grab it before it drops on bathroom floor. My heart has almost jumped out of my throat as he reminds me that the football game is starting in an hour and that his attendance in the team meeting and preparation is mandatory. It seems he has his lips pressed against the thin gap of the door to ensure I can hear him clearly. I tell him I am almost finished getting ready and snap a good length of toilet paper, and wrap it around the pregnancy test tediously before I throw it in the garbage can. I quickly glance at myself in the mirror before I open the door and join him in the hallway.

I sit on the highest platform of one of the bleachers donned in my thick jacket and scarf as I watch our local players clash with the big men from District Three. It is too early in winter to be this cold. I watch my breath leave my mouth and quiver because of the cruel chill in the air and because I haven't figured out a way to tell Peeta about my current, nagging concern.

Snow is continually falling and there is a thin layer of it accumulated on the grass as the game progresses. I don't keep track of the score because I'm too absorbed in all of Peeta's movements on the field, and I jump off my seat everytime he is struck down by an opponent. I wince through the snow and feel sick from worry when the back of his head lands on the ground, followed by a couple of bodies toppling over him. He is lacking in height compared to the rest of his team, but he doesn't fail to surprise and impress everyone by his admirable grit and strength.

Peeta is in high spirits after our district wins the game an hour later, jumping off and pumping his fists, congratulating his team mates. I leave my seat and climb down the bleachers, positioning myself by the fence that borders the field, trying to get his attention. He sees me and almost hops towards me, curling his fingers around the fence as we peek through at each other.

"Peeta, can't you please play a little bit careful next time?" I ask him with a straight face as my breath fogs the space between us. His face is unreadable at first but then he suddenly bursts out in laughter, big, hearty laughs, his fingers still clutching the wire as he stands behind it. He leans over and gestures for me to inch closer to the fence, and through the wire he chooses an opening and he tilts his head and moves his lips behind it, asking to meet mine. All the noise from the field and the audience drown out as we kiss.

We have the rest of Saturday to stroll around in the town square.

A mind-numbing, even colder gust of wind pushes us to go to inside the indoor market place, and we're surprised at the huge number of people floating from booth to booth, shopping. Peeta and I dive right in the middle, as he picks a utility store and I am further enamoured by a huge shop for infants, the only one existing in this district.

I smile at the tiny milk bottles and ornamental baby carriages, the bright colours of baby bonnets and embroidered blankets. The diapers packaged in bulks are currently on sale, and so are the containers of baby powder. My heart melts at the smallest pyjama set I have ever seen, and I pick it up and coo over the small pink dog prints all over the fabric. Peeta suddenly brushes against my back, beaming at a snow shovel in his hand as he presents it to me.

"This thing here is half its retail price right now," he pauses as he marvels at all the glimmer and shine on the shovel. "We need a new one. It might be a bad winter this year."

I acknowledge his success in finding a good deal and show him the pink pyjama in my hand, grinning at him as his eyes soften.

"Isn't this the cutest thing?" I ask him, holding it up close to him so he could see the puppy patterns. He doesn't respond but he shoots me a quick glance, then the corner of his lips tug into a smile. He turns to look down at the rest of the selection of the infant nightwear, picking up a blue one imprinted with a dog with fluffy, white fur and black, beady eyes.

"Hey this one looks like Pebbles!" he exclaims. We giggle over it a little bit more and tear away from them, placing the garments back on the table as the smiles disappear from our faces. We carry on and canvass through the rest of the stalls, Peeta further purchasing two new pillows, and I march out empty handed as we leave the market.

* * *

My fists curl and uncurl as I fidget in my chair, feeling nauseous and boxed in from all the white in this doctor's office. White walls, white chair, white desk, white lights, white computer. I let out another exasperated breath as I wait for my doctor to come back from the adjoining room. Which is another continuation to all the white that is starting to blind me. There is something about hospitals that make me uneasy.

He finally reappears, holding a thick folder jammed with papers. He sits down across from me, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he scans me up and down. He opens the folder and skips through some pages as his other hand adjusts the glasses on his nose with a pointed finger.

"Miss Everdeen, the war icon of the second dark age," he tells me, not the greeting nor the kind of warm welcome I was expecting to hear. "I watched you assassinate Coin."

I don't know why he is smiling at me, but I feel the sudden need to leave and ditch my appointment. I stir in my chair as I look at him agape, not sure how to respond. My fingers come up and fiddle with the handle of my bag, as my eyes shoot down to the tiled floor. He notices my troubled expression as he waves his hand in mid air, apologizing, but I don't think he knows what he's really sorry about.

"Pardon me, it's just that...I was a volunteer doctor during the war. I was stationed at the Capitol, tending to the injured," he takes in a quick breath when he notices I don't plan to respond. "Anyway, you have quite a medical history," the doctor pauses as he reviews a glossy document.

"You came in diagnosed with depression, and Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. You also suffered from... death wish..." he trails, and is more or less talking to himself as his eyebrows furrow at the print.

I shake my head. "I submitted myself for treatment when I was twenty. They were the roughest times, and it took around six or seven years for me to battle my depression and trauma." It hits me how dark and twisted the troubles were that I went through. And how successful I prevailed over it, even though it took an extensive amount of time. He nods at me, flipping more pages. He responds positively and closes my document of medical history and places it down on the desk.

"You've come a long way. What are your concerns now Miss Everdeen?"

"I'm uncertain about my...capability of bearing children."

"You're not over thirty-five years of age so I will not be referring you to a fertility specialist," he says firmly. "How do you know the issue here is yourself and not your partner?" the doctor asks. My eyes turn downcast and tell him I haven't even told Peeta. The doctor perks at the mention of Peeta's name, but he doesn't veer the subject away. He whips out a pen and starts to write on a piece of paper.

"Does he want children?" he asks me, and I almost jump as I answer yes. He continues, "Do you want children because he does?"

I make sure I look at him straight in the eye, and I remind myself to keep my voice from shaking. "I have reached the personal decision that I want children too, because I know I'm ready, after all these years. I want to be able to provide...and to nurture, and with Peeta by my side, he'd make a great father."

I realize I've said a mouthful, surprised at the enthusiasm of my own revelation.

"Come in next week for a test. I may have to prescribe you clomiphene citrate. As you may already know, this district now thrives on medicinal discoveries and manufacturing. You need not worry, Miss Everdeen." He hands me the paper with the appointed time and the name of the doctor I am supposed to see.

* * *

Peeta emerges from the kitchen where he was preparing rows and rows of dough for tomorrow's bakery production. He takes off his apron and wears his sweater, then fixes the belt on his pants. He is looking at me from across the room while I sit in front of the television, exhausted after work, writing lesson plans, and all the hunting I did in between.

"What do you want to do for dinner?" he asks me as he gives me a tired smile. I reach for the remote control and flip the channel.

"I'm not hungry. I mean, I was, about an hour ago when I told you about it, then my stomach started hurting from hunger so I ate some oatmeal," I display a quick interest on a random show and drop the remote control. "And now I don't really care."

"So...we're just...not going to eat anything for the rest of the night?" He is approaching me with a displeased look on his face.

"My appetite is gone," I tell him blankly. I feel really irritated at him right now. I've been starving for a couple of hours and I made a point about it over the phone when he called me earlier, but it seems he just dismissed it because I couldn't tear him away from kneading flour.

"Ok, Katniss, if something is extremely bothering you, you should communicate it to me."

"I did! I mentioned it over the phone."

"I've been pre-occupied the whole afternoon!" his arm gestures toward the archway of the kitchen. "You could have been firm about it and I could have done something to help," his anger grows right before my eyes. It's rather a rarity, but I feel like being stubborn, so I don't fold.

He stands in front of me, breathing heavily while he waits for me to continue the conversation, and turns on his heels towards the front door when he notices that I'm not going to bother. It has not been a good week between us. We are quick to get annoyed with each other and tempers have been flaring easily. I hope it's because we're currently undergoing the adjustment period of living in together. We have been discovering little habits about each other we never would have uncovered if we were not in each other's face all the time.

"And I don't understand how we have a full refrigerator and no food on the table." He grabs his jacket, swings the door open and slams it close. And he's gone.

I've seen this before. And I know what he is going to do. He is going for a long walk. He tends to walk his anger off when we fight, through snow storm or rain storm, and he will walk the whole district if he needs to. I shift on the couch and exhale, looking at the television screen but not really watching anything. I can't sit still, and I am suddenly disturbed by the silence in our house, by the lack of music from the radio whenever Peeta is working on his art or making dough.

* * *

Night falls. I open the front door to see the back of Peeta's jacket as he sits down on the porch, head hung low, arms crossed over his knees. I don't know how long he has been there. I tread slowly, and pause before I am mere inches away from him. I kneel down behind him and reach out to wrap him in my arms, resting my chin on his shoulder as his head lifts up and leans on mine.

"Hey," he says, and his hand comes up from between his knees and pushes toward me a small bouquet of small white and yellow wild flowers, the ones that survive through winter. "I picked these for you," he says solemnly. His hand disappears again and picks up a box placed by his feet. He carefully hands it to me as well.

"I got us some roasted chicken too. Greasy Sae made it," he tells me, and I smile to myself because Peeta would never entertain going to the Hob if he can help it. I guess it was one of his stopovers during his walk. I secure the flowers and the box in my arms and move around to sit down beside him on the porch.

"I made your favourite salad. I made it better this time, I added pine nuts," I say timidly, and finalize to hell with this argument because it's not worth it. "Sorry I was being difficult. It's tough to come to a resolution with that kind of attitude," I offer him my apology as I brush my arm against his.

"Sorry I got upset. I tend to be short-fused when I'm hungry," he says. I nod because I already knew this about him. "Come here," he whispers as he shifts and drapes an arm over my shoulder, dropping his head down to mine and covers my mouth with his, the elevation I feel at the thrill and the touch of his lips dismissing the negative remnants of our fight.

We sit down for a late dinner as the fireplace crackles with flame, grinning at each other from across the table and talking about bills and splitting costs, how much snow has fallen that day, Greasy Sae's tasty roasted chicken and how it was the only dish he found appealing in the Hob that night, and then nothing at all.

I find him in the art room hunched over a big canvass later that night, painting snow-covered trees and a slim river running through it. My feet feel heavy, but it's due time that I should let him know. I should stop treating this issue as if it is a forgotten grocery item, or a broken shoe that can be repaired any time. I swallow a lump in my throat and put a hand on his shoulder before I lean back on the drawer beside the canvass in front of him.

"Peeta, I, uhh..." I start, the lightness of his aura is making me more nervous. He puts his paintbrush down on the ledge, giving me full attention. "I'm ready to have children. I want our little hunters and bakers..." I trail and can not continue because I am distracted by the widening smile on his face as he suddenly stands upright and his hands magnetize to my hips.

"Katniss!," he prematurely celebrates and I have to put a palm to his chest so I can finish the rest of the things I need to extend to him. I close my eyes.

"But something is wrong. I have been off my birth control pills since you left for prison last year," I'm afraid to lift my eyelids to see his reaction, but I do. He is looking at me intently, his blue eyes darting at mine, from one eye to the other, the smile diminishing from his lips and his eyebrows slowly creasing as he mentally reaches a full realization. His mouth opens in an attempt to respond but he doesn't.

My head threatens to drop as he maintains his grip on my hips, immobile at the news, flashes of trouble on his face. His breathing has become shallow and his lips have forgotten to move. I choke. "I've been seeing the doctor for a while. I have another appointment tomorrow."

* * *

I watch Peeta as he buttons down the blue dress shirt that I bought for him in front of the mirror. He picks up a comb and brushes his hair back, applying a small amount of gel. He puts on some old pair of jeans and chooses a pair of wool socks, and then sits beside me on the edge of the bed as I hold my compact mirror and carefully paint my favourite red lipstick on my lips. He smiles at me as he flips my wavy hair until they all land behind my shoulder.

We bundle up before we head out the door. It is our district's winter festival of lights, held near the end of the season. It is a fun outdoor festival in the town square, when all the booths are shut down and the main stage is allocated to a number of live bands. There are canopies over tables and chairs where people can lounge on and have hot chocolate or tea, strategically placed all around the square. In the middle of it all boasts a wide wooden platform for dancing, but it is not covered by a canopy, rather by long, interlaced strings of light in blue, yellow and orange. The mayor made sure there are more lights this year than last year, dangling just about anywhere.

The square is already busy and humming with laughter and chatter as we enter. Light, soft snow has started falling, playing and swirling in slight wind before it touches the ground. It is a perfect winter night with just a touch of coolness that does not send chills but enough to tickle the cheeks. All the spaces seem to be filling in faster than I expected and I begin to pull Peeta to the next empty table that I spot. But he stands firm and points at a table near the dance floor, a bit of shock on his face as he confirms with me that Gale is looking right at us. Peeta starts waving at him and starts to drag me across the square. We join them, and go through the motions of formal introduction.

"You're Katniss?" Gale's girlfriend is demure and not very generous with words, exuding the classic type of beauty and an air of grace. She sits, closed off, and flashes quick smiles across the table as she holds Westin in her lap, stroking his hair. I nod at her and offer a smile. She continues, "I've heard alot about you." And that is pretty much the only conversation she tries to engage me with.

Gale is seated beside her, holding up their second son on his legs as he tries to balance him. His name is Cliff, a bouncing little baby with dimples on both cheeks, showing an obvious fascination towards Peeta. Gale tells both of us that he is visiting his family in the district for the holidays. The second band has now set up on the stage, and smooth, classical music comprised of violin, drums and bass fill the winter air.

Peeta offers a hand to Cliff as a playful introduction and the baby wraps his tiny, chubby fingers around his, giggling out of control. Peeta is beyond delighted as the baby starts to reach out for him, and whimpers when he realizes he couldn't. Gale gathers him up and stands, approaching Peeta and handing Cliff to him gingerly, securing an extra blanket over his jacket. Peeta chuckles and lightly bounces the baby in his arms, asking him what his name is, along with other things that did not make much sense. The baby responds in babbles and blowing bubbles with his mouth.

"Once you have a kid, that's it, my man. Everything changes; your whole life. So while you have time, everything you want to do, do it now," Gale suggests and finishes his mug of hot cocoa, smiling at Peeta. But I don't think Peeta is paying him complete attention because he is charmed by the sounds the baby is making and how the little thing is now trying to shove Peeta's finger into his toothless tiny mouth.

I am enthralled by the mere interaction between Peeta and the baby that I don't hear Gale from across the table asking me for a dance. I slightly nod at Gale's girlfriend and shoot Gale a quick smile before I concede. Gale leads me to the platform, joined by other couples taking up the dance floor. He holds my hand with one of his, and places his other on my waist, but he maintains his distance. I sneak a glimpse of Peeta on the table still playing with the baby before Gale sways me around. He begins to snicker.

"It sure looks like Peeta is ready to launch into fatherhood," he tells me. I make a face at him.

"Cliff really seems to like him," I say, glancing again at Peeta over my shoulder as Gale and I make circular dance patterns.

"Any plan on having your own? With him?" he asks as he looks down at me, the brightness from small lights above us making my eyes flinch.

This time I almost hurt my neck as I take another peek at Peeta who is now watching me from his seat as Cliff sits comfortably in his lap, snuggled in close to his chest, his small hand clutching his jacket. I catch Peeta's smile thrown at me as Gale pushes me around again.

"We're on our way there...working on it," I answer, choosing not to fill in all the details. Gale and I catch up on each other's lives as he tells me he might be moving even further away to Capitol with his family, much to his mother's dissatisfaction. He also tells me his is proposing to his girlfriend soon, and he plans to have the wedding here in Twelve. We finish another song but I sense he's not planning to leave the dance floor any time soon.

I hear someone clear their throat as Gale looks at the person behind me. I turn my head as far back as I could and see Peeta waiting diligently, his hands locked behind his back, and balancing his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet. I can't help but giggle as he finally asks, "Can I have this dance?", a shy smile playing upon his lips. Gale detaches his hand from my hip and twirls me around towards Peeta, thanking me for my time.

"She's all yours," Gale tells him and good-heartedly slaps his back, nods at me and leaves the platform.

Peeta takes a deep breath as he takes a step forward and envelopes me in his arms, careful not to step on my feet this time, and begins to sway me.

I know the snow has not stopped since we arrived at the festival, but when I look up to lock eyes him, my senses react as if they were falling all around for the first time, little snowflakes landing softly on Peeta's hair and eyelashes. The strings of light glow overhead, piercing through the transparent puffs of snow as they float and spin, sprinkling us like magic dusts. And I rotate with them, snowflakes weightless in the delicate December wind, as weightless as I feel when I am in Peeta's arms, as familiar as touch of home.

"I know," he mumbles, almost inaudibly, as he presses his lips on my forehead.


	12. Chapter 12: Axis

Ever since I opened up about my problem regarding pregnancy to Peeta, he dropped everything and ensured he accompanied me during my visits to the doctor. All the appointments for testing, monitoring and check-ups. My mother had expressed concern as well, when I shared with her my situation over the phone, asking if she can suggest natural alternatives or any type of organic approach, back when I was starting to feel all hope is gone.

Even though we found it tough to transport materials like lumber and brick through the woods, Peeta and I started a project to rebuild my father's small cottage house by the lake. The final costs of the rebuilding was not overwhelming due to its mere size, but the reward of seeing it stand tall again nestled in between the many evergreens and one growing maple tree was very much fulfilling. Peeta and I visit more frequently in the summer, or transition weather like spring, when the lake water is not that cold.

I baked a big, two-tiered cake for Peeta for his thirtieth birthday. He walked in on me unexpectedly in the kitchen as I sat down on the floor engulfed in intense concentration, eyes glued to the oven, watching the cake rise in heat. It felt like a life-defining moment indeed, I had an invisible tear running down my cheek. I shooed him away into the living room, and would not let him go back into the kitchen until after I finished decorating the cake. After a mind-bending hour of forcing out all my creativity onto a big chunk of bread in front of me, I grabbed a towel and bounced off to fetch Peeta who was chasing Pebbles around in the living room. I blindfolded him before I yanked him away, guiding him to the dining table and making him sit on a chair, snapping on a cardboard party hat over his head, which I created with my bare hands as well. When I untied the piece of fabric and let his eyes loose he was relieved to see I was wearing a party hat as well. And so was Pebbles. My cake was a little bit sloppy, angled a bit lower on one end, and the chocolate icing was inconsistently spread out on the top tier. But he beamed nonetheless, and applauded at the sight and half the magnificence of it, complimenting me as if my cake was a piece of valuable jewel before he swiped at it to taste the icing.

It was spring when we went for another stroll to our favourite river that barges in from Eleven. It was like any other spring day. But that season, the ground was littered with tall, wild flowers, and the shore was spouting out plenty of cattails. The faint heat from the sun mixed amicably with the faint spring breeze, as soft as cotton when it brushed against my skin, as Peeta had me trapped against our old willow tree with one of his arms bent and resting over my head. His fingertips grazed my chin and tilted my face upwards, and gently rubbed his nose against mine before he dropped a kiss on my lips, and then trailed down my cheek, skimming against my skin to drop another one on my neck. He pulled away, his eyes suddenly interested on the grass under our shoes, and I watched him as he lowered himself and knelt down in front of me.

"I know we have faced plenty of difficult times through the years, but our happy memories outweigh the bad. Those I treasure the most," he paused to rid the of the sudden knots in his throat, and I could see his shoulders rise as he took deep breaths in between. "I'm here for you during your darkest. And if worse comes to worst, if a child is not in our cards, I still want to be with you, and I can't imagine being with anyone else."

He pulled out a ring from his pocket and extended an arm towards me, followed by his head slowly tilting up until his expectant eyes landed on mine. And for a quick second, I thought I saw it twinkle.

"Will you marry me?"

I felt the rest of world around us stand still, immersed by the slowed motion of his eyes flickering up at me, invisible currents ruffling his blonde locks, as he offered me the silver ring, sparkling under rays of sunlight that seeped through the dancing vines of the willow tree. One of my hands flew up to cover my mouth as my lips began to tremble, the other finding my chest to calm my heart from beating out of control. My eyes blinked back tears as I tore my hand away from my face before I answered, in a shaking, almost comical voice that I could not recognize myself, "Yes..."

And he gathered me altogether, all my light, all my troubles, my strengths and my flaws, all of me as I wept silently, spinning me amongst the swaying wild flowers.

* * *

I sat cross legged on the floor, submerged in endless waves of silk and laces of my white dress which was brought over by my mother from Four. Peeta was poised closer to the fire place, in his crisp, white dress shirt, engrossed by the flames as he toasted our bread. We held our wedding in the backyard, invited most of the district as everyone sweat and smiled under a boisterous July sun. We waited until all the guests had left our house, as we wanted to keep the toasting just between Peeta and I. He pulled the bread away from the fire and let it cool before he tore it in the middle, leaning in to me above my pile of dress and feeding me my half. I took the other half from his hand and offered it to him as well, looking deep into his eyes as he took a first bite.

* * *

One lazy Sunday afternoon found me standing by the archway of the kitchen door with Pebbles in my grasp, contemplating the man lounging lazily on the couch with the remote control of the TV, frozen in mid-air as he clicked away at it. I snickered before I let go of Pebbles and sent her running away towards Peeta, preventing her from barking because I made her hold something in her mouth. Peeta watched as she approached him in simple glee, wagging her tail, looking at Peeta as if she wanted to be picked up.

"What is it Pebbles?" he asked as she stood up on her hind legs and started clawing on the couch. This sent Peeta to sit upright. He was having difficulties training Pebbles not to scratch on furniture. Peeta's face fell into confusion as he spotted something Pebbles was trying to pass over to him, almost whimpering out of excitement. He grabbed the pieces of fabric hanging off of her mouth and brought it up closer so he could examine it. His eyebrows started to wrinkle, as if he was doubtful, and then they slowly straightened back down to a line as his eyes widened, throwing glances at me before his head shot back down to his hands to double check if it's still there.

What I gave Pebbles to deliver to Peeta across the room was a pair of tiny pink knitted baby mittens adorned with yellow ribbons I had been stitching together behind his back.

With his feet planted firmly on the floor he stretched to stand up, all his focus now on me as he took a giant, slow step forward. I leaned my side on the doorway, waiting for him as he loomed closer, my smile flashing a little bit harder upon seeing the wide range of emotions on his face. He glanced down at the pink mittens again, hands stiff as he held it close to his chest

"It's a girl?" he asked me, the grin he was holding back on his face about to burst. I nodded at him, feeding off the joy that I felt off of him.

"...It's a girl!..." and he was about to squeeze me into an embrace but screeched to a halt and put a palm on my stomach instead, caressing it gently as we touched foreheads and laughed and cried together.

* * *

I tread along a couple of feet behind Peeta as we walk through beds of bushes with blossoms of golden flowers on the tips. We skirt around tall grass and pick up all the cotton weed that we could, my daughter gathering them diligently in her hands before she blows them away into the wind. She is sitting on her father's strong shoulders as he holds her down by her little feet, her dark hair in ponytail contrasting against his messy blonde. She throws away the stems as she comes across an assembly of monarch butterflies, giggling while pointing at them flutter all around her, telling her daddy to catch her one.

A butterfly lands on my son's hat that hides his blonde curls, as it stretches its wings, and I timidly move a hand forward in hopes of having it perched on my finger. It panics and flies away, my son acknowledging its presence and tries to call it back with a sad yelp. I keep him secured in my arms as I readjust the bag on my shoulder, pushing in the tip of my nose to his cheek as I appreciate the lovely baby scent. Pebbles stays close beside me, barking away at the winged creatures as they play with her, and retreats when she realizes she can't reach them at all.

Beyond the long, thin strands of cotton weed that float and swirl between us, I see Peeta turn around at a slight angle to look back at me while my daughter is still frantically trying to enclose a butterfly with her small hands. He mouths something to me I could not quite make out from across the golden flowers, and then gives me a smile from ear to ear, as trees come into view and we are greeted by the approaching water up ahead, rushed and glimmering, almost blinding in its beauty.

I am Katniss Mellark. I am thirty-nine years old. I live in 3413 Blue River Street, Victor's Village, District 12. I have a daughter named Willow, and a son named Rye. My bestfriend, my lover, and my husband, Peeta, is my constant, my rock. The foundation of my structure, and the blood in my veins. He taught me how to accept myself, how to embrace my past, and how to love. These are the years that we have spent, and this is what they represent; the sciences behind all our progress, and the love that binds it altogether.

* * *

_**The End! Thank you for all the support and reading this unstable, rollercoaster of fluff and dramaramarama**_

**Stuff That Are Insignificant But Had Something To Do With the Story:**

*** I totally overlooked the fact that Peeta is uhm...not that tall, and was supposed to have artificial leg, when I included football in the storyline.**

*** I actually do not like or know football (no offense). I merely had a stubborn, mental picture of Peeta as a hot football player (who is 6ft tall)**

*** I personally love soup. It's the best comfort food**

*** I screwed up my time line. Hence the little pregnancy problem**

*** I did not mean for the willow tree by the river to be a constant thread throughout the story; guess it just sort of worked out **

*** The last scene is designed in a way that it is up to the reader to pick where they were heading to; either the lake house or the river**

*** Peeta gave Katniss a new bag! It's a Michael Kors!**

* * *

**Knocks Me Off My Feet - Stevie Wonder/Donnell Jones**

**I see us in the park, strolling the summer days of imaginings in my head  
And words from my heart told only to the wind  
Felt even without being said**

**I don't wanna bore you with my troubles**  
**But there's something about your love**  
**That makes me weak and knocks me off my feet****  
**

**I don't wanna bore you with it**  
**Oh but I love you, I love you, I love you****  
**

**More and more**

**We lay beneath the stars, under a lover's tree**  
**That sees through the eyes of my mind**  
**I reach out for the part of me that lives in you**  
**That only our two hearts can find**

* * *

**Add me on Tumblr I'll add back? username: lovemetwice  
**


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